The Wolf and the Slaughterhouse
by onlinescribbles
Summary: Mia stumbles into Beacon Hills like she has every other town she's ever lived in - of which, there are many. However the night of her arrival doesn't go according to plan, and she's tossed into a situation which will lead her to loss, love, and change.
1. Like a Lamb to the Slaughter

**Chapter One: Like a Lamb to the Slaughter**

* * *

The building should have been condemned years ago. If not condemned, it should have at least gone bankrupt. Most of the windows were boarded up, and those that weren't had their curtains drawn tight.

In the distance, a car door slammed shut. I turned around, and saw my father step out of his car. His hair was disheveled, and his glasses were sliding down the bridge of his nose. "I need to sort out some paperwork. Do you mind helping me carry some of this stuff upstairs?"

I reluctantly stepped away from the truck I had been leaning on, and glanced toward him. "Sure." I slid my hand into my pocket, and pulled out my keys. My father walked past me, plucked them from my hands, and then proceeded to unlock my truck.

"Margo's going to love this place." He muttered, as he reached for the heavy box in the corner of the trunk. He pulled it toward him, and dipped down under it's weight. "She's always wanted to come to California."

"Yeah." I folded my arms across my chest. "I'm sure she would've loved to live in this dump." I nodded toward the battered building in front of us, and walked toward him. "If you hadn't locked her up in that mental institution."

"Not a mental institution."

I chuckled, and held out my arms. My father dumped the cardboard box into my hands, and then turned back around to pull something out for himself. "It's actually much worse than that." I said. "Boarding school. Just saying it makes me want to throw up."

"That's not what you said when we first dropped her off." My father reminded me. In his hands were several important looking documents that he had pulled out from the trunk. "If I recall correctly, it almost sounded like you wanted to join her."

"You never seem to recall incorrectly."

My father smiled, and shrugged. He then began to walk toward the building. "I already know what you think about all this."

I readjusted the box in my hands, and followed him toward the building. "You were right." The words rolled off of my tongue with ease, as they had so many times before. "Margo loves her school, and I'm better off with you."

My father pushed open the rusting door with his shoulder, and smiled. "I hope you realise that the reason for this could be related to the fact that Margo only needs her wisdom teeth removed." He smirked. "Instead of her fangs."

I scanned the room. Thankfully, it seemed to be completely deserted. There was a concierge desk at the front, but there wasn't anyone attending to the station. Hideously patterned wallpaper lined the room, and the black and white tiles were all scratched up. Finally, and this might've been the worst aspect of the entire room, there was only a single elevator in the corner, and a sticker had been plastered over the door. Although the words had been rubbed off, I had a pretty good idea of what it might've once read.

"You're going to subject me to laborious physical activity?" I asked, gesturing toward the elevator. "I don't do laborious physical activity."

My father looked upward, and then glanced toward the elevator. "I'll be up in a minute." He said, as he sorted through some documents. "We're only on the second floor anyways."

I groaned, and let my head roll backward. "Where'd Mom go anyways?" I asked, watching as my father sorted through his files. "Because I think it's an injustice that I have to participate in this torturous activity while she out on the town."

He chuckled, without looking up from his papers. "She's hardly doing anything that entertaining." He said, as his glasses slid further down his nose. "She wanted to check out the restaurants a couple blocks away, so she should be back soon." My father then glanced back up, and nodded toward the stairs. "Boxes don't move themselves."

"And if they did, they would be far better company." I responded, stepping in the direction of the staircase. "Even now, they're better at keeping secrets than you are." I lectured, referring to the snide dental comment he had made earlier. "People aren't as dumb as you think they are."

My father responded with laughter. His eyes flickered up toward me, as his chuckle died down. "Usually they are."

"Margo is smart." I combatted. "And Mom is smart."

My father didn't respond to that statement, because he must have known that there wasn't anything he could use to rebut that claim. However, he did look back up at me. "You're just upset because of the fang comment." He said, convincingly. "I know you don't actually have them."

"You do. And there's going to be a time where you won't be able to hide that anymore." I countered, but regretted the words as they tumbled out of my mouth. "What's the room number again?" I didn't want to have that fight. I knew how it started, and I knew how it always ended.

"Room 216."

I nodded, and glanced toward the set of stairs. I took the first step upward, and heard the floorboards creak beneath my weight. "It'll be a miracle if we survive until the next move."

* * *

After the first two flights of stairs, I arrived in a barren hallway. It was lined with the same hideous wallpaper that was plastered across the walls downstairs. I squinted at the fading numbers on the doors as I walked through the hall, and eventually located the room my father had rented out.

I slipped my hand into my pocket, and dug around for the ancient looking key my father had handed to me earlier. Although it took a sizeable amount of effort, I managed to slide it into the keyhole, and shove the door open, which caused a bit of the plaster in the ceiling to sprinkle down onto my head. I quickly brushed the white chalk off, and picked up our belongings again.

The inside of the apartment was just as unpleasant as the lobby was. The kitchen and the living room were combined into one large room, and down the hall there seemed to be two small bedrooms. There was an island countertop, acting as a barrier between the kitchen and the living room, which I set the box upon. I opened it up, and began to rummage through our belongings.

I pulled out a simple wooden frame, holding the only family portrait that we owned. It was also the last time that we were together as a family before Margo was shipped off to her boarding school in Pennsylvania. She had stayed there every year since she was twelve. Since that was the case, we only got to see her during the summer.

Margo and I were only born a year apart from each other, and since we looked similar enough, we were often mistaken for twins. In the photograph, Margo had her blonde hair pinned up in a sleek bun, while my curls flew all over the place. Her warm brown eyes were blocked by the glare of light, whereas mine were clearly visible.

Apart from the obvious shared features, Margo and I had grown to the same height, and also had the same slender figure. We looked like neither of our parents, but had gained certain traits from each of them. My mother had blonde curls, and intelligent green eyes. She had long, slender limbs, and soft features. On the other hand, my father had dark brown hair, and matching eyes. He wasn't heavily built, and also bore elongated characteristics.

I heard the door creak open. I expected to see my father standing there, but I was wrong. Instead, I saw the door across the hall open. Standing in the doorway was a boy with scruffy brown hair, covered by a blue beanie. "Hey." He said, shutting the door behind him. "I'm Peyton."

I gave him an obligatory smile, and turned around to greet him. "Amelia." I replied, sticking out my hand. "Just moved in."

"Yeah, I can see that." He said, examining our apartment. When he realised that he had left my hand lingering in the air, he quickly rushed to shake it. "You know, I don't think anyone's lived here since the building first opened."

"Well don't tell me there's anything wrong with it." I told him, retracting my hand from his clammy grip. "There wasn't anyone who died here in the middle of the night, and haunts this apartment building to this very day?"

Peyton chuckled, and shook his head. "The only horror story concerning this building is the doorman downstairs." He said, jokingly.

"That bad, huh?"

"Worse." Peyton answered. "Can I come in?" He asked, even though he had already taken a few tentative steps inside.

I turned back to the box in front of me, and quickly closed it. "You've already done that, so there's no stopping you now." I turned around, and crossed my arms. "So how long have you lived here?"

"Pretty much all my life," Peyton said. "Beacon Hills is my home, no matter how unpleasant the doormen are."

I smiled at him. "Beacon Hills," I mumbled. I knew that it was the name of the time, and a rather boisterous one at that, but I was reminded by something my father had mentioned in passing on the way here. "That sounds familiar. Isn't that the name of the school here?"

"That would be Beacon Hills High," Peyton confirmed. "Nothing special. Just your obnoxiously stereotypical high school."

"Well, I'll be looking forward to it." I told him, as another thought dawned on me. "Weren't you going somewhere?"

Peyton shook his head, but then reconsidered the question. "Well there is this pretty intense game going on at the school." He said. "I wasn't going to go, but, since you're here, maybe you'd want to check it out with me?"

Heavy footsteps reverberated throughout the corridor, and my father appeared behind Peyton moments later. Peyton twirled around, rather ungraciously, and stuck out his hand. "Oh! Hello, I'm Peyton. Ashworth. I live across the hall." He gestured to his own door as he said the phrase, causing my father to glance over.

My father smiled, and held out his hand. "Carson Hoffman." He announced. "You go to Beacon Hills High?"

I gave my father a curt look, as his smug eyes glanced upward. I wished he wouldn't do that. He was always flaunting his heightened senses around, as if people were too dumb to take note of the peculiar gifts he was given. Didn't he realise that people were going to start questioning him when they realised he could hear conversations from down the hall?

"Yes, sir." Peyton said, as I rolled my eyes at the use of such formalities. "Actually, I was just asking whether or not Amelia would want to come along to this lacrosse game at the school tonight."

"Wait, you didn't say anything about lacrosse." I interrupted, holding out my hand. Lacrosse was not something that I enjoyed. I never understood sports, but I had dealt with them, and even played some in my lifetime. However, lacrosse was the exception. "Lacrosse is stupid." I proclaimed. "It's just hockey with weird sticks."

"Come on, Mia." My father urged. "Go to the game, it'll be good for you." He shifted the weight of the box in his hands from one arm to the other. "Have fun. Do teenager things."

I glanced toward Peyton, who nodded toward the stairwell eagerly. "Fine." I said, through gritted teeth. "Let's go." I walked back toward the creaky set of stairs, and heard Peyton bid my father farewell.

The both of us flew down the stairs, and quickly made our way into the lobby. I pushed past the doors, and didn't bother to close them behind me. I heard them smack against the palm of Peyton's hand, but he didn't seem to mind my behaviour. "That yours?" Peyton said, suddenly, as he nodded toward the crimson coloured truck parked out front.

"My pride and joy," I answered. "Did you want to get in, or were you just going continue to stand there?" I asked, as I was about to yank open the door, but stopped when I realised that Peyton was still standing a couple feet behind me.

"Your truck is practically blinding me. Did you need to get a car the same colour as the sun?" Peyton quickly walked over to the other side of the car. When I pulled myself into the vehicle, I noticed that Peyton was barely able to sit comfortably in my car, and the top of his head brushed against the ceiling.

"Comfortable, are we?" I pulled out my keys, and jammed them into the slot. The engine roared, although that's more of a generous term, and then we were off, engulfed in the silence

"So…" Peyton drawled. "Where're you from?"

I glanced at him, and smirked. "Are you trying to make small talk?" I asked. "Because small talk is prohibited in this vehicle."

"Alright then." Peyton said, amused. "Then I'll tell you about myself."

Again, I found myself glancing up at the boy. "Who said I wanted to know anything about you?"

"I do," Peyton answered. "So listen up. I was born in Beacon Hills, and have never left. I've never been out of the state before, so I've lived quite a boring life."

"So you are telling me about your terribly boring life for what reason?" I asked, interrupting Peyton.

He turned to me, as he had been staring out his window, and gave me a look. "Shut up and listen. I'm a needy teenage boy who wants attention." He said, and then he turned back to the window. "As I was saying, I've lived quite a boring life, but I'd be more than happy to grace you with a few facts about myself."

"Get on with it then," I droned, making a swerve into the next street. "Don't make me sit through this any longer than I have to."

Ignoring me, Peyton went on. "Well, I have a younger sister. An annoying younger sister. Her name's Charlotte. She likes abstract art, leather jackets, and cigarettes. Lorrie's pretty much had it with her. Personally, I don't think she'll take it much longer. She's probably going to throw her out soon, and, since she doesn't have any college plans, Charlie's doomed."

"These aren't facts about yourself," I said, processing the information being force fed to me. "You're giving me facts about your dysfunctional family, which I also did not ask for."

"Okay," Peyton said, still not sounding the slightest bit angry with me. "Then let me tell you something about myself. I've failed two years of school, but managed to make up for it during the summer. Mainly that's because of all the shifts I have at at the various jobs I somehow manage to keep, since my aunt finds them more important than an actual education. I've had more jobs than girlfriends, of which there are none, so it's not that difficult to accumulate more than that, and I also enjoy reading, writing, and long walks on the beach."

I let the information simmer for a moment before responding. Peyton had shared so much information with me in the past five minutes than I ever intended to share with anyone. "My turn," I said, surprising both Peyton and myself. "I've lived in nearly every state there is, and have never lived anywhere for more than a year. I have a younger sister. She's also annoying, but all younger siblings all. I barely see her anymore, so I tend to forget how annoying she actually is."

I let out a sigh, and blew away a strand of lemony coloured hair that had fallen into my face. "Is that enough information for you?" I looked over to Peyton, who seemed to be listening to my every word.

"Yeah."

Peyton and I didn't talk much after that, as I didn't feel like sharing much else, and Peyton seemed to feel the same.

We weren't silenced for too long, and arrived at the field in no time flat. Peyton instructed me to park by the curb, and we both quickly rushed to field after that. Actually, a more accurate description would be Peyton dragging me along, making sure we didn't miss the winning goal, point, strike, whatever it is for lacrosse.

I've never particularly enjoyed live sporting events, as I don't really see any point in them. Why would you watch other people play a game instead of playing yourself? Besides that, the atmosphere was never particularly enjoyable. Rowdy fans would cheer from the benches, forcing you to join in meaningless chanting, and urging you to buy foam fingers.

"Shit." Peyton mumbled, as we were both still a lengths away from the actual game. "There's like ten seconds on the clock." He stopped his speed walking, and slumped his hands in his pockets. "Well all this was for naught."

"It's fine," I quickly reassured him. "Honestly, I was kind of dreading it. Not to offend anyone, but what even is lacrosse? It's hockey with weird sticks."

Peyton looked back, with a disgruntled expression. "You've said that twice now, and I feel the need to tell you that hockey was actually derived from lacrosse."

"But hockey includes so much more physical violence!" I said, with semi-false enthusiasm.

The crowd began to chant down to the final seconds, anticipation evident in their anxious tones, and the heated atmosphere. The scoreboard buzzed, signalling the victory for the home team. I assumed that was Beacon Hills.

But it didn't last long. All around us were beams of light, illuminating the stadium, but, as if by some unknown powerful force, they were all switched off. Chaos ensued, and screams filled the void that had been left from the darkness of night.

"What the hell?" I shouted, over the screams of the crowd.

Peyton and I were being pushed past by swarms of people, desperately trying to evacuate the scene. "Let's get out of here," he said, making a grab for my wrist.

I yanked myself away from him, and shook my head. "You can go. I want to know what's happening." Peyton shouted with protest, but I ignored his attempts to draw me back into the logical world.

My senses, due to the chaos, had been heightened, and everything around me sharpened into focus. The screaming became background noise, unimportant to me. I could hear words of worry travelling through the crowd, alongside rumours of what had happened. However none of these senses proved more useful than my sense of smell, which showed me what truly was happening.

It smelt like danger.

* * *

**Author's Notes: Thanks so much for giving this story a read! I know there's not much about the characters on the show just yet, but I promise it's coming. Next chapter will include some of the characters, and after that it pretty much revolves around Amelia's interactions with her family and the characters. If you liked it, please make sure to review! They really make my day, and I literally smile whenever I read them. So, yeah. Thanks :D **


	2. Hero Complex

**Chapter Two: Hero Complex**

* * *

As I weaved my way through the crowd, the terror filled screams died down, turning into cowardly whimpers. The waves of people had dispersed, leaving room for the hoards of police to inhabit an area in the middle of the field.

Laying in the centre of the policemen, was an unconscious figure. He was completely decked out in lacrosse gear, although his helmet had rolled away, revealing his sandy blonde hair, and strong jawline.

Admittedly I spent a few moments too long admiring his obviously attractive features, but after that had been done, I became fixated on his hands. Although they seemed normal enough, I could've sworn that I'd seen something sharp sinking back into his skin.

But it couldn't have been. If he _was_ what I thought he might be, I would've sensed it. Sure, I can't hear the beating of insect wings a hundred miles away, but there was no way I would be able to miss the distinctive scent of a werewolf.

Sirens rang throughout the field, snapping me out of my thoughts. My head shot around, taking note of the ambulance that had arrived. Several paramedics had begun to examine the boy, as they rolled him over on his side. Another set of paramedics brought out a stretcher, and hoisted the boy onto it.

"You know, I'm going to have to give a statement." I heard a voice say, as the body disappeared into the back of the vehicle. "Why don't I ride with you?" The voice had come from a woman. She had dark hair, and eyes to match.

Before the other woman could even formulate a response, she was interrupted. "Perfect!" She didn't bother waiting for a second response, and instead walked over the the passenger seat.

Leaping at the chance, I rushed forward and grabbed the paramedic by the shoulder. She turned around, with an exasperated expression. "What?" I made several gestures to the direction that the woman who had just spoken to her had gone, but eventually restrained my hands from doing anymore damage.

I told her the first lie that came to mind. "That was my cousin. His parents are stuck in traffic, and they said I should meet with them at the hospital."

"Screw off."

The woman sauntered out of sight, and I heard the car door slam shut. Though I was discouraged by my failure, I didn't intend to give up so easily. I stormed away from the field, and dashed toward my car.

* * *

The hospital was quiet, considering that they just received a mangled body. There was an appropriate number of people waiting there, many oblivious to the events that had just occurred a couple hours ago. Several people were sat in the waiting room, some cradling young children with minor injuries, and others filling out copious, and needless, amounts of paperwork.

I headed straight for the front desk, knowing that I wouldn't be able to actually see the mystery boy, but hoping that I might be able to figure out who, or what, he was. "'Scuse me," I said, making sure that the woman behind the counter knew I meant business. "I was waiting on my parents, but I heard that a boy from Beacon Hills was hurt in the lacrosse game tonight. I wanted to know if he was alright?"

She didn't bother to glance up from the computer screen her eyes were glued to. "Oh, Sweetie." She spoke in an incredibly patronising tone, and I had to restrain myself for the second time that night. "We don't offer that information to anyone who isn't immediate family." She then glanced around, and then turned back to me. "Between just the two of us, there's not much to see anymore. You said Jackson Whittemore?"

Actually, I hadn't said anything.

"Of course you meant him." The secretary said, as if she were punishing herself for thinking otherwise. "I'll tell you this: Jackson Whittemore? They sent him straight to the morgue."

"He's _dead_?" Despite my dismayed expression, I was somewhat relieved. If he hadn't healed immediately, he most definitely wasn't a werewolf. Then again, I recalled the image of Jackson being dragged away in a body bag. Hadn't there been an implacable smell following the body all throughout the evening? Hadn't there been a suspicious looking liquid seeping through the body bag?

"This is a weird question, but can you direct to the morgue?"

* * *

In order to keep you entertained, I'll shorten the story for you. The receptionist did not direct me to the morgue. Personally I don't think I used the most appropriate line to start with when asking where I might be able to find a dead body. Don't ever try that. You might get arrested.

As I tried to recall the once distinctive scent, I wandered the halls of the hospital. The place seemed to be trapped in a continuous loop of tranquility, which was an odd state for any hospital to be in.

"Oh god, are we going to do this?"

My head snapped in the direction of the voice, only to be disappointed in a lack of people trailing me. I turned back around, and looked at my feet. Ignoring all other distractions, I waited for a response. Any sound at all.

"Okay, we're going to do this." The statement was followed by the slow unzipping of a bag, and an elevation in heart rate.

Following the sudden commotion, I gently walked toward the voice, all the way down to the end of the hallway. There was a glass window pane that allowed those who wanted to take a look inside to do exactly that. I pressed my face up to the glass, attempting to hide behind the door frame.

There was the woman who had weaselled her way into the ambulance at the lacrosse field. She was leaning over the plastic bag, and carefully inspecting the victims face. She jumped backward, and had to grab the back of a metal table to balance herself.

I leaned forward, and my forehead made contact with the glass window pane. I craned my neck, catching a glimpse at what was laid out on the table to draw out such a dramatic response from the woman.

I was able to see only a portion of him, but that was enough. His entire body was encased in a clear substance, and only his head had escaped the prison the rest of his being was placed in. His arms were folded over his chest, and as I had predicted earlier, there were sharp nails shooting out from his fingertips.

"Well I'm so freaked out I can barely talk either." My attention was brought back to the woman in the room, who was now speaking into her cellphone. "Something. Definitely something." She said, nervously pacing the room. "I don't know what, but I think you're going to want to see this for yourself."

She shut off her phone after that, closing her eyes and taking a breath. It hadn't occurred to me that I should take the opportunity to evacuate the scene. And when the idea did come to mind, it was already too late.

"Hey!"

Her sharp tone snapped me from my thoughts, and the intense look in her eyes sparked adrenaline in me that I didn't know I had.

Without thinking about the consequences, I dashed down the hall. Unfortunately for me, I had momentarily forgotten that this particular corridor lead nowhere. Once I reached the end of it, I whipped my head in all directions, searching for a doorway to slink into.

I felt someone grab my shoulder, and I was forced to turn back around. "Who the _hell _are you?"

I opened my mouth to speak. Initially, I intended to come up with another lie. However I found myself doing something entirely different. "Who the hell are _you?_" I combated, coming off more aggressive than I wanted to sound. "What's a human doing mucking around with werewolves?"

The woman let of my shoulder, but her expression hadn't changed. "What's your name?"

"What's yours?" I spat, though I knew she was much more accustomed to playing this game than I was. Eventually, the silence became unbearable. "Amelia," I said.

She must've realised that I no longed posed any threat, so her expression softened. "I never thought it'd come to this." She mumbled, leaning backward. "Species?"

I leaned away from her, and crossed my arms. I didn't mean to seem so defensive, but it was too late to change my mind. "You're not playing the game right. What's your name?"

"Melissa," breathed Melissa. "Maybe we can find a way to help each other out."

"What was that?" I asked, without really agreeing to her statement. "Because I don't think that thing is a werewolf."

Melissa bit her lip, and shrugged. "I have no idea," she said. "I don't even really know what's going on. But I've called my son. He might know what to do." She rethought that last part of her sentence and then corrected herself. "Maybe."

"You don't sound so confident in his abilities," I noted, refusing to tear away from her gaze. It felt like a competition, and whoever lost would have to face consequences, whatever they might be.

"If you knew my son, you wouldn't be either."

* * *

Melissa leaded me back to the room where she had spotted me peering in through the window, and instructed me to shut the door behind her. She then nodded toward a chair in the furthest corner of the room.

"Sit."

And so I did.

Waiting for this stranger to show up was the most painfully boring task, but at the same time I found myself hoping that he never would. I was unsure of how I should act in front of him, or how much I was expected to know. Would I be treated well, or would I be demanded to leave the state?

Time went on, and my thoughts subsided. I heard the sound of footsteps echo throughout the hallway, and the turning of the door knob. Two boys stormed into the room, and my presence went unnoticed.

One had tanned skin, and dark hair. The other was paler, and had curlier hair. I assumed that the first one was Melissa's son, as he shared her dark features and even her worried expression.

Melissa's son, whom I will temporarily name "Kyle" because I don't want to constantly refer to him as "Melissa's son", was oblivious to my presence until his mother pointed me out to him. Once she did this, his reaction was immediate.

He seemed confused, but he masked this expression with one that indicated irritation. "Who's she?" He asked. Though he was looking toward me, the question was meant for Melissa.

Melissa's eyes were on me now. It made me feel like a suspect in an interrogation room, and I wasn't quite sure I enjoyed that feeling. I felt like the walls were closing in on me, and soon I would be crushed into oblivion. "Ask her yourself."

I brought my hand to my head, and gave Kyle a salute. "Amelia," I introduced. "I'm pretty sure I'm in a hostage situation."

Kyle turned towards Melissa, and Melissa turned towards Kyle. "What's she doing here?" He asked, in the same manner he asked his last question.

"Ask her," Melissa said. "Yourself."

To get their attention, I waved. Again, all of them found their way back to me. "I came to see the body," I answered. When the silence continued, I began to speak again. "I'm assuming you did too, so I can't be the only weird one."

While Kyle gave his motor another irritated look, I breathed in the new scents in the room. It was more difficult to differentiate the scents. It was like the scents had intertwined with one another, dancing throughout the room.

Eventually, I managed to identify them. I couldn't tell which scent belonged to who, but that didn't matter all that much. They were Betas. One might've been an Omega, but I decided that it was smarter to over estimate than under estimate. The main thing was that I knew what they were, and now I knew what had to be done.

"Well." I said, attracting the attention of each person in the room. "This has been fun." I pressed my hands together. "But now that you know I'm not a threat to whatever it is you're up to, I think I'll just…" I pointed to the door.

Kyle stepped in front of the door, blocking my escape route. I took a step back, as my eyes narrowed. "Hold on." I felt my heart leap, as I mentally cursed at myself. I hoped Kyle would just interpret this as anger, instead of what it really was.

"What?"

"How do we know she's not working with Gerard?" Kyle asked, as he glanced toward his accomplice - whom I had mentally named Dylan. "Her scent isn't very strong. Maybe it's just some sort of trick."

"Well, I'm not wearing any werewolf perfume." I said, as I began to doubt his knowledge on the supernatural. "But since I have no clue who this "Gerard" person might be, I think we're in the clear…" I let my sentence trail off, waiting for some sort of confirmation.

"Scott." Dylan said, as he stood in his corner. "There are more important matters at hand." He looked bored, as if our arguments were invalid.

_Scott _now seemed to be accepting Dylan's reasoning, and began to back away from the door. "Wait," I said. Although the reason was unknown to me, I reached for Scott and held him back. "Who's Gerard?" I asked. "Some malevolent villain that you have to combine forces with to defeat? Are we in a Marvel comic or -"

"We might as well be." Scott said, seeming bored of the endless string of questions I was asking. "So if you'd just leave, that'd be great."

"Wait," I said once more. "What if I want to be a part of this? Where do I sign up?"

Scott met me with a look of sheer disbelief. He looked back to Dylan, and then to me. "This isn't something you sign up for…"

"Listen." I interrupted, as my throat began to close up. _Oh god, _I thought. _Please, don't do this. This is literally the worst place to do this. _"I've had a rough couple of weeks, and if you could just let me have this…distraction, that'd be great." I pursed my lips, and swallowed back the tears that had begun to form in the back of my throat.

"_This _isn't a distraction." Scott said, as his eyes flared with anger. "It's serious. His life is in danger." He pointed to Jackson, without taking his eyes off of me. "And you want to-"

"Scott." Dylan said, as he pointed to the body bag on the table.

Everyone turned to see what Dylan had been so alarmed by, and stared as Jackson took a large breath. I'm not sure how familiar you are with dead things, but that's generally not something dead things do. We all took a step forwards, and gravitated towards the table. Jackson took another large breath, which caused Melissa to flinch.

"Maybe I should just…" She reached for the fastener, and began to slowly enclose the body. Jackson breathed again, as sharp teeth shot out from his gums.

"Zip, Mom." Scott said, as Melissa began to do exactly that. "Zip. Zip."

Once the body bag was sealed, I backed a way from the table. For a few moments, there was complete silence. But the calm didn't last for long. Moments later, Jackson began thrashing around in the bag - and a horrible hissing sound emulated from him.

"Isaac." Scott said to Dylan. "We'll take him the the warehouse, and meet Derek there."

_Isaac _and Scott brushed past Melissa and myself, grabbing Jackson by both ends. "Who's Derek?" I asked, as they shuffled back past me. "Is the the Ring Leader of this whole operation?"

"You want to be part of the _team_?" Scott challenged. "Rule Number One: Don't ask questions."

* * *

Name an energy drink. Any energy drink. Oh, I haven't heard of that one. Regardless, that night it had felt like I had just consumed every energy drink known to man. That is how much adrenaline was pumping through my veins.

Scott and Isaac were handling Jackson, while I made a point to quickly follow behind them. We were on the way to the spot I had parked my truck, as I had offered to drive them to this mysterious warehouse of theirs.

They had agreed, though I suspect it was merely because of my usage of description. A truck could carry something as large as a teenager in the back, whereas Scott's vehicle could not.

As I marched through the parking lot, I began to grind my teeth together. I had shoved my hands in my jacket pockets, but still managed to fiddle with them the entire way. I needed some way to use up all the extra energy coursing through me, as I didn't want to be perceived as some hyperactive idiot who didn't know what she was getting into.

My concentration was lost as I heard a large smack against the pavement. I looked up ahead, noticing that Scott had dropped Jackson on his head. "Dude!" Isaac snapped, trying to keep what was left of Jackson off of the ground.

"Sorry." Scott said, even though he sounded unapologetic. He dropped down on his knees, and hoisted Jackson back up.

Footsteps began to echo ominously throughout the parking lot, causing both Scott and Isaac's ears to perk up. Clambering out of the shadows, was the shady figure of a man. His hands were tucked into the folds of his leather jacket, which matched his boots exactly. Hunting boots.

His scent wasn't that of a werewolf - nor the scent of any supernatural creature I had ever come into contact with. Regardless, he greeted Scott and Isaac in a way that suggested familiarity. However, his eyes glossed over me with nothing but apprehension.

"What do you want?" Scott asked. His voice was cautious, but he still managed to command authority in his tone.

"We don't have much in common, Scott." He said, taking more ominous footsteps. "But at the moment, we have a common enemy."

Scott looked down at the body in his arms, but quickly back up to the man. "That's why I'm trying to get him out of here."

"I didn't mean Jackson."

What this man knew was unsettling. He wasn't a werewolf, yet he was so bountiful with knowledge. I didn't want to give into the possibility, but it seemed like I had no other choice.

He had to be a hunter. There was no other group of people who knew as much about the supernatural than them. In all the years I've been on this earth, I've met several groups of hunters. Some were dangerously skilled, but unbelievably ignorant. Some were impossibly intellectual, but had no experience with the art of combat. The most dangerous, and the one I was faced with know, were the best of both.

"Gerard has twisted his way into Allison's head the same way he did with Kate." He revealed, though the names meant nothing to me. "And I'm losing her, and I know you're losing her too."

My eyes darted over to Scott, who wore a pained expression at the mention of "Allison". It was a pretty name, for a pretty girl. Perhaps it was a pretty name for his pretty girl.

"You're right." Scott said, with a passive expression. "So can you trust me to fix this? Can you let us go?"

The man gave the slightest shake of the head. "No." He said, dashing our intentions. "My car is faster."

* * *

Now that the initial adrenaline had subsided, the trepidation was settling in. I checked my phone for the first time that night, and found that I had missed several messages.

**_Mom: _**_We got takeout! Text us when the game's over. _

**_Mom: _**_Getting worried, Mia. Give us a call._

**_Dad: _**_Mia, where are you?_

**_Dad: _**_What happened at the game? Where are you?_

**_Dad: _**_Do you need _**_my _**_help? _

**_Dad: _**_Mia. _

**_Mom: _**_Your father and I are worried. Where are you?_

These messages were no help in soothing my worry.

Suddenly, I felt myself lurch forward. The man had slammed his foot on the breaks, and everyone shot out of the vehicle. By the time I shut the door behind me, Scott and Isaac had begun dragged the body onto the curb. The other man - whom I will name Christopher for now - followed suit.

"I think he stopped moving." Isaac remarked. For a moment I wondered whether or not this was good news, but I didn't have time to think much on the matter. A thundering noise came bellowing down the street, as it seemed a cougar-like figure was coming at us.

The animal stood, and proved itself human. The man in front of us had dark hair, and rugged features. His skin was rough, and bearded. The man's eyes felt like they seeped into your soul, reading your every thought.

Speaking of his eyes, they washed over the rest of us and landed on Christopher . "I'm here for Jackson." Christopher said, indefinitely. "Not you."

I presumed the man was Derek, as Scott hadn't mentioned any other names. "Get him inside."

Scott and Isaac picked up the body, and dragged it inside the warehouse. I quickly scampered behind them, watching as they promptly dropped the sack into the middle of the room. The building was dust ridden, and filled with old construction projects that looked like they'd never been finished. Scott turned to Derek, who'd just walked in. "Where are they?"

"Who?"

Scott leaned forward. "Peter and Lydia." He said, as if it should have been obvious.

Derek ignored Scott's question, and instead proceeded to unzip the body bag that Jackson was hidden in.

"Hold on a second!" Scott protested, more determined now. However Derek had already unzipped the bag, revealing a fairly normal looking Jackson. I only say that he looked fairly normal considering he used to be completely submersed in a gelatinous substance, and now it seemed as if had melted away. "You said you knew how to save him!"

"We're past that!" Derek said, quickly. Scott stuttered, attempting to retaliate with some sort of solution, but he was not allowed to continue. "Think about it Scott!" Derek countered. "Gerard controls him now. He's turned Jackson into his own personal guard dog. And he set all of this in motion, so that Jackson could get even bigger and more powerful!"

"If there's still a chance you could save him don't you think you should take it?" I interjected.

"Will you keep your mouth _shut_? You're just some half-breed!" Derek shouted, causing me to recoil in response. I had never heard the term used before, but I knew exactly what it meant. "You're nothing more than a lone wolf. It'd do you good if you kept your mouth shut."

I stepped forward, even though I wouldn't stand a chance against him. "I'm not an _idiot_. I'm trying to save someone's life." I retaliated.

"Why don't both of you do us all a favour and shut the hell up?" Christopher suggested, overpowering both of our voices. "If Jackson is a dog, he's turning rabid. My father wouldn't let a rabid dog live."

"Of course not." Shivers were sent down my spine, as the voice wormed into my ears. "Anything that dangerous is better off dead."

I turned around, and was faced with someone who I hadn't expected to be thought as the villain in this situation. He was an elderly man, though one who seemed to know how to use a weapon, and balding. He definitely wasn't the epitome of maliciousness.

Derek was about to dig his claws into Jackson's flesh, but was interrupted. Jackson plunged his hand into Derek's chest, proceeding to throw him across the room. Everyone watched as the body hit the adjacent wall, and fell into a pile of boxes. "Well done, Scott." Gerard said. "You brought Jackson to Derek so he could save him. You just didn't realise that you were also bringing Derek tome_._"

I heard something that reminded me of a dog that was about to be put down, and something flew across the sky. I saw a girl standing several feet away from the rest of us, with a bow at the ready. Scott looked upward, and uttered a familiar sounding name. "Allison?"

This was not the image of Allison I had in mind. The Allison I had pictured wore pastel dresses, and went to parties. The one who was stood in front of me was decked out in leather, and wielded a crossbow.

Commotion erupted from behind me, and I spun around. Several figures were throwing themselves at Jackson, moving so quickly that they were merely a blur in my vision. I desperately wished that I could do something, anything, to help. Derek was right. What could I do? I was useless. _Useless. _

Allison began to make her way to Derek, her eyes unforgiving. "Allison!" Scott pleaded, causing her to glance toward him. Her concentration was only lost for a second, but this movement cost her dearly. Jackson slithered up behind her, and grabbed Allison by the neck.

Gerard walked away from the shadowy corner in which he stood, and shook his head. "Not yet, sweetheart."

Jackson loosened his grip on Allison's neck, allowing her to speak. "What are you doing?" She asked, in a daze of confusion.

"He's doing what he came here to do." Scott said.

Gerard, knowingly, split his vision between the two teenagers. "It was that night outside the hospital. When I threatened your mother. I knew I saw something in your eyes. You could smell it, couldn't you?"

Isaac looked up, as he had been hunched over his blood soaked abdomen. "He's dying," he revealed. The pungent odour came to me all at once, a scent I can only describe as smelling like wet socks. It had been overpowered by the scent of all the wolves in the room, but once it was pointed out to me, I realised this newfound fact as well.

"I am," Gerard confirmed. "I have been for a while now. Unfortunately, science doesn't have a cure for cancer yet." However he didn't look saddened by this news, as I only saw a thirst for blood behind his eyes. "But the supernatural does." Gerard said, revelling in the news.

Several boxes fell, making a sound that caused Gerard to glance in that direction. I turned, and became terrified at what I saw. My father, his glasses askew, was pulling himself across the floor, and an arrow looked as though it had been pulled from his leg. "D-dad…" I stuttered, too shocked to actually respond to the situation. "Dad!"

Gerard glanced toward me. "But first, we'll get rid of that one." A gunshot reverberated through the room, shaking my entire body. I leaped forward, to reach my father, but Gerard then held me at gunpoint. "What is with all you impatient young ladies?" He asked, smirking. Forgetting to hold back my tears, I began to shake, watching as a pool of blood poured out of my father's convulsing body, his eyes were still open, fixated on my own.

Christopher, Gerard's son, gritted his teeth. "You monster."

"Not yet." He corrected, his eyes mimicking those of a wild animal's.

I was still focusing on my father's body, whose breathing I could see had become laboured. His eyes slowly began to droop down, almost closing. "Dad!" I yelled, finding my voice again. "Just…" My voice cracked, and I choked back more steaming hot tears. "Just don't move. Please just don't go anywhere."

Gerard glanced over and gave me what he must've thought was brilliant advice. "When it comes to survival, I'd kill my own son." He backed away, and turned to Scott.

The boy began walking forward, cautiously. I remained where I was, as there was still a gun was pointed at me. Scott looked down at Derek's quivering body, and grabbed him by the neck with his claws. I had to look away, only to face my father's body once more.

_Your fault_. _All your fault. _

My father's chest rose, and then fell. And then rose, and then fell.

"Scott don't." Derek repeated, sounding desperate. This was a tone that I suspected not many had heard from him before. My eyes turned back to my father, who was now still. Completely and utterly still. My heart felt as though it was going to explode. It would explode and then replace itself with another heart which, in due time, would also explode.

"I'm sorry." Scott said, silencing Derek. "But I have to." He began to lower himself and Derek to the floor, pushing them both backwards.

"Scott!" I shouted. He couldn't just do that. No, he couldn't give up everything like that. I didn't understand how he could he risk his life, and the lives of others, only to give in to what he'd been fighting against all this time.

Gerard walked up behind him, with his sleeve pulled up, and held out his arm. Derek clamped onto his flesh, as Gerard let out a scream. Derek fell the floor, seemingly unconscious, as the man revelled in his victory. However his cries sounded full of pain, as a black liquid came pouring out from his wounds.

"What?" Gerard said, perplexed. "What did you do?"

"Everyone always said Gerard had a plan." Scott said, as he looked back to the man in question. "I had a plan too."

Gerard opened the metallic box I had seen him fiddling with earlier, and he dumped it's contents onto the floor, which turned out to be medically prescribed pills, or at least, that's what I thought. Gerard took the pills in his hand, and crumbled them into oblivion. "Mountain ash!" He bellowed, as the black liquid oozed out of every orifice he had. He looked up to the sky, as if he were drowning and couldn't get enough air, and began to pant, as a waterfall of the black liquid shot out of his mouth, a signal that his body was rejecting the bite. His eyes closed, and, as if in slow motion, he collapsed to the floor.

I immediately felt relief, now that there wasn't a gun pointed directly at me, but my gaze turned toward my father, who hadn't moved since I last saw him. I ran toward the body, and slid the last few inches on my knees. I ignored the cries I heard in the background, even ignoring the huge clamour of noise caused when a blue jeep ran through the shack's walls. All I could see was my father, lifeless on the floor. All I could hear was his voice in my head. All I could smell, was the pungent door of mountain ash, clogging my sinuses and worsening my breathing. I didn't touch him, as if by touching him I would suddenly intensify the situation.

"Dad?" I whispered, as more tears streamed down my face. "Dad, please. Please wake up." I said, oblivious to the rest of the world. "What am I going to tell Mom?" I asked him. "Please, Dad." I said, shaking uncontrollably. "I can't do this, I need you. Please, _please, please._"

"Amelia!" I didn't respond, still shaking my father, and pleading with fate to change it's decision. A woman with blonde curls came running into the room, taking in the blue jeep, and several strange beings huddled in a faraway corner, but only responding to me. Upon seeing the body, I could see that tears immediately found their way to her eyes, but she held them back. She placed a hand on my shoulder, and, without thinking twice, I leaped into her arms.

"Mom," I mumbled into her shoulder. My mother balanced her head on top of mine, silently letting tears pour down her face. "It's all my fault," I said. "This is all my fault, I should've gone with you, this is _my_ fault." How could I have been so colossally idiotic? I should have gone to that hospital. I shouldn't have been so stubborn. I could've been that crappy apartment right now, with my _family_.

My mother shushed me as best she could without having her voice falter. I could feel her hand gently caressing the back of my neck, attempting to soothe me. "No, no it isn't." She said. "It's mine."

I pulled away from my mother, facing her with tear stained cheeks. "What are you talking about?"

"I knew." She admitted. "I knew everything."

* * *

**Authors Notes: …And there you have it. As I promised, more about the characters on the show. A very dramatic ending for the second chapter, but I can tell you that more is coming. It's a very intense storyline, but I really like it - and hopefully you will too! As always, make sure to give it a review - they really make my day, and I'll talk to you later! :D**


	3. Blast to the Past

**Chapter Three: Blast From the Past**

* * *

_Four Months Later_

For a long time, I felt like it was just me and my father.

It was me and my father who were travelling across the country together. It was my father who taught me important life lessons. It was my father who showed me how to control what supernatural powers I _did _posses. It was my father who told me that no one else could know about it. Not even my mother.

There were numerous reasons for him to regret some of the choices he made, and he wanted to make sure that I knew that. My father knew the life that he had made me live wasn't ideal. Even though I'd told him countless times that I loved it, regardless of the fact that our lives were uprooted every few months. And of course he felt horrible about keeping this secret from my mother.

While travelling on the road, there was always an odd day where my mother would have to run an errand by herself. She never told me what she was up to, and she never told my sister either. In fact, I'm not entirely sure she ever told my father either. It's a fact that remains unknown to this day.

Once Margo was shipped off to her boarding school, these days were a special occasion between us. I particularly remember one day where my father had wanted to take me to the amusement park, when it started pouring rain. Just when we thought it couldn't get any worse, the car broke down.

It sounds like something out of a movie, but I swear that it's true. While my father opened up the hood of the car, I sat on the roof. Several minutes later he was covered in motor oil, and half of the gears had been tossed onto the pavement. He gave up after that, and joined me on the roof.

"I love your mother." He said, watching the beads of water meet with the earth. "You know that, right?"

I looked up at him, because at that time I had no other choice. "Why else would you have married her?" I asked, unsure of what he meant by the statement he had just made.

My father laughed, as I continued to stare at him. "Actually, we never got married." He revealed. This was one of the most shocking moments of my childhood, as I had never considered any other possibility for my parents.

"Why not?"

He let out a sigh. "It's a long story." My father said, running a hand through his once thick hair. "But since we're in the middle of no where, I guess we have some time to kill." He sat there for a minute, perhaps contemplating whether or not I was ready to hear this story.

I looked up at him, expectantly. "Your mother and I met after she graduated. I had already dropped out of school at the time, because you know that's what _my _father wanted. You know that they were all Wolves. Every one of them. Because of that, we had a vow to keep to ourselves. No one born a Hoffman ever did anything great because of that vow. We couldn't become anything more than ordinary, otherwise people would suspect."

He took a breath, as I patiently waited for the rest of the story. This was definitely not where I thought the conversation was going, but I was paying attention to every detail. "After graduation came around, I met your mother. I won't go into the romantic details of it all, because I know that's not what you want to hear. I'll just tell you that it was great. We were great."

My father paused again, the ghost of a smile plastered on his face. I imagined my mother and him, meeting for the first time. I wished there was a way I could've watched them fall in love. It would've been magical, I'm sure. "But of course there are always tribulations, and we were no exception." My father said, snapping me from my thoughts. "Her father didn't approve of me, I suppose he wanted better for his daughter. That wasn't too bad, but something worse was bubbling." Another breath. "You know that story."

Indeed I did. He had only told it to me once, and asked me not ask for him to recount the memory again. My father came from a long line of Wolves, and with that came the dangers of Hunters. My father's family had been exterminated all in one go.

"That happened." My father said, glossing over the matter. "I couldn't stand being there anymore. So I told your mother what I was doing, and she joined me. I thank the heavens that she did. I don't think I would've survived all on my own."

I wonder what he would say now.

* * *

I stood in the bathroom. I _had _been standing in the bathroom for over an hour. I probably could have stayed for longer, but there were other things to attend to.

Today was the first day of school.

I hadn't thought about going back to school in a while, and I even considered _not _going back. Then I realised that if I didn't I would have to spend the rest of the day with my mother.

There were no words to describe the betrayal I felt. Just thinking about how I felt made me want to…I don't even know. There was so much hurt. And the hurt was everywhere. Every morning when I woke, I felt waves of emotion hit me. Each round worse than the last. Personally, I don't think that pain will ever subside.

I took a breath, and turned towards the door. There was no more avoiding this. I pushed open the door, and took a step outside. I could hear something sizzling on the pan, and the radio. My mother must've thought that the music took some weight off of the situation. It really didn't.

I walked into the kitchen, as the floorboards creaked beneath me. "Morning." My mother said, without turning around. I tried to break down the meaning behind her words. She seemed to be handling this day normally, but she couldn't possibly be feeling that way. "I made eggs."

I nodded to acknowledge her statement, but steered away from her. Instead of accepting the breakfast, I reached for an apple. "Do you need a ride to school?" My mother asked. Each time she spoke, I closed my eyes. I had to force myself to breathe, and then react accordingly.

"Nope," I responded. I walked over to the door, and picked up my bag. Before I was able to escape the room, I felt a hand on my shoulder stop me.

I turned around, and faced my mother. Her eyes stared into mine, they were the one aspect that I hadn't inherited from her. Her warm brown eyes poured into me, as I stood there. "Mia," she said. "We have to talk about this eventually. You've had the summer, how long until things go back to normal?"

It took me a moment to register what she had said. "I'm going to be late." My mother must have believed that this relationship would have somewhat simmered back to normal by now. Unfortunately, this process was proving to take longer than she had anticipated. Maybe things would never go back to normal.

"Have a good day." My mother said, as she returned to the stove. I stayed there for a moment more, wondering what was going through her head. I wondered if she really believed that things could really return to normal. Perhaps I wished the same. I just didn't know if it was possible.

* * *

_I couldn't make sense of the situation. It was impossible. "I don't understand." I said, shakily breathing through the immense pain I couldn't seem to escape. I was unable to tear my eyes away from the steering wheel, because I didn't want to see the world merely continue. It needed to stop, so I could think. "You knew?" I asked, heart shattering inside of me. "You knew all this time. And you never thought to say anything?" _

_For some time, all I heard was the beating of my heart. "I did to protect you." My mother said, stumbling with her words. She was broken up inside, and I could see that - but there was no time to deal with her emotions. _

"_Protect us?" I turned, and was met with her somber eyes. They were bloodshot, and her cheeks were stained with tears. "You weren't protecting us." I said, almost laughing at the thought. "And you have no right to claim that you did. Dad was protecting us. Protecting us doesn't mean keeping us from harm. It was being sincere. Being sincere, and there to talk to when there was no one else." _

"_Amelia." My mother said, in a tone I had never heard her speak in before. "The Carson you knew, wasn't the Carson I knew. The Carson I knew had an abundance of secrets. You were the only one who knew him the way you did." She turned in her seat, with a distant expression - it was like she was uncovering something that she had been attempting to discover. "He never told me anything. I don't know anything about his family other than what mine told me about them. And he'll never know about mine." _

_There was something about the way she spoke that made me question her. "What was there to know?" I asked, without indicating any sense that I had come to terms with the situation. _

"_Mia, you have to understand." She said, reverting back to her previous tone. "Where there are Wolves, there are Hunters. That will always be the case. When the tradition has lasted that long, there's nothing more you can do to stop it -"_

"_You did it." I said, breathless. The world around me began spinning, and it was like the space was enclosing around me. "You murdered them!"_

"_It wasn'tlike that!" My mother seemed deranged, with her widened eyes and desperate tone. "My father knew the signs well, and he…he wanted to take care of the issue. I promise that I attempted to stop him, I promise I did. My father was a hard headed man, and once he put his mind to it…no one could stop him." She looked over to me, waiting for the response I was supposed to give._

_But it wasn't possible. In one movement, I unlocked the car door. "Mia." My mother reasoned, placing an arm on mine. I tore away from her, and ran. I could still hear the police sirens in the distance, and even the faint sound of my mothers voice. However, none of that mattered anymore._

_Nothing mattered anymore. _

* * *

"Amelia?"

For a moment, I remained silent. However, the incessant noise at the window did not. When I couldn't take the noise anymore, I leaned over and unlocked the door.

"Mia!" Although there was an undertone of distress in his tone, there was also a smile. "Where've you been all summer?" Peyton asked.

I thought that he should've already guessed _what _it was I'd been doing all summer. He should've known that I'd locked myself in my room for the entirety of the warmer months, and intended to do the same for the next couple years. "Clearly I've been busy with all the other people in my social circle." I said, motioning to the empty space around me.

He chuckled, completely forgetting about the state I'd been in moments ago. That's one of the amazing things about people, they're so completely absorbed in themselves that they never bother to pry into your personal life. "Come on, we're going to be late," said Peyton, as he pushed me through the school doors. "There's this new teacher for English Lit, and I really don't want to make a bad impression."

Right. That's what I should've been worrying about that day. I should've been wondering what outfit would have been best to wear that day, and contemplating how to make the best impressions on my teachers. That's the kind of stuff that I should've been worrying about.

"Yeah," I said, instead of voicing my true opinions. "Better get a move on."

Again, Peyton didn't notice the apprehension in my tone, and went on about his own life. I learned that he had travelled the country with his family over the summer. Peyton recounted the numerous attractions that they had seen, though he didn't seem particularly impressed by them. "And they dragged me to Lucy the Elephant."

"Who the hell is Lucy the Elephant?" I asked, slamming my locker door shut. Peyton had done me the favour of offering to be my guide for the day, though I hadn't asked him to. I'd been the new kid so many times that it sort of had it's own rhythm now. I always figured things out in the end.

Peyton shrugged, somewhat bashfully. "Lucy is basically what she sounds like," he said. "Just a huge elephant in the middle of nowhere."

"Definitely worth the ten hour drive." I added, chuckling alongside him. Peyton and I began to walk towards the English room, continuing our conversation. He held the door open for me, and I walked in.

As soon as I entered, the entire world seemed to slow down. On the opposite side of the room, Lydia Martin and Allison Argent stood whispering about something. Many people would label this type of conversation as gossiping, but I knew better. Conspiring, possibly. But more probably, it was them discussing something that had happened, something dangerous. Behind them, Stiles and Scott were discussing something as well.

Their faces were enough to transport me back to that moment. I could feel the wind brush past the bare skin on my arm, and the wailing sound of the policemen in their cars. I could hear their interrogative voices, demanding answers from me, when I could give them none.

Peyton reached for my shoulder, and pulled me toward the back of the classroom. "You sure you're okay?" He asked.

"Course, just…remembered something." I said, slipping into one of the seats nearby. Peyton nodded, and turned his attention to the front of the class. This gave me time to recover from the burst of memory.

I felt my phone vibrate in my pocket. It was a strange time for anyone to be messaging me, especially when you considered the fact that only a limited amount of people knew my telephone number. Like seriously, I had like one contact that I actually conversed with. The other two were, well, my parents. I didn't think my mother would attempt to converse with me through text messaging, but I wouldn't put anything past her.

I pulled my phone from my pocket, and checked the messages.

_"The offing was barred by a black bank of clouds and try tranquil waterway, leading to the uttermost ends of the dart flowed somber under an overcast sky, seemed to lead into the heart of an immense darkness." _

I noticed that someone had been reading the exact same text message I had just received out loud, as she walked into the room. She had dark hair, and wore a professional looking suit. "This is the last line to the first book we are going to read," she announced. "It is also the last text you will receive in this class. Phones off."

Peyton glanced over to me, as I turned off my phone. "You can survive without your phone for an hour." I said, rolling my eyes. "Plus you don't even text anyone."

He faked a hurt expression, but then busted out laughing - which he subsequently got reprimanded for. "Too true, too real." He said, his brown eyes crinkling from his smile. I really liked Peyton's eyes, they reminded me of Margo. While I'd inherited the green eyes my father wore so nicely, she'd inherited the traditional brown.

* * *

"_Mia!" She shouted, pulling me into an overdue embrace. I held her close, and relished the moment. I knew that this would be the only moment of content over the duration of her visit. "I missed you," Margo said, as she released me. _

"_I missed you too," I said, shoving my hands into my pockets. It was always a strange feeling, greeting my sister after so many months. She was my sister, my only sibling. I longed for the close knit relationships that I saw others have, but I didn't ever think that would apply to us. There was too much distance, and too many secrets. "Kind of unfortunate that it's under these circumstances."_

_Margo looked away. I hadn't noticed this before, but her eyes were clouded with tears. "Yeah, no kidding." She said, taking a breath. It had been a couple weeks since the incident, but it had taken Margo that time to make the journey here. The pain was still evident on her face, as it was in me. _

"_So, where'd Mom go?"_

_She didn't answer, which already hinted that she knew what had happened while she was away. "She didn't want to interrupt." Margo said, making sure I knew she wasn't about to disclose anything I wasn't supposed to hear. _

"_We're not exactly on good terms." For some reason, I wanted to talk about. I wanted to see how much my mother had revealed to Margo. Had she laid all the cards out on the table? Were there really no more secrets between us? _

_Margo merely nodded, and made a noise that sounded like agreement. "She made that clear enough." Margo said, continuing to nod along with me. "Can I ask why?" _

_So she hadn't told Margo. There was still one of us left entirely in the dark. It was then I realised that nothing had really changed, except for the expansion of my own knowledge. Dad had known, and Mom and known, and I now knew everything they had once known. What was left for Margo? I suddenly felt a wave of guilt ridden emotion wash over me. All these years, and I never even confided in my own sister. _

"_No," I said, suddenly. "I'd prefer if you left the subject alone." _

* * *

Thud.

All the heads in the classroom turned towards the window, spotting the rim of a wing before the creature fell to the ground. It left a red stain on the glass, in exactly the shape the bird had hit it in - like a cartoon.

There was a swarm of crows nearing toward the same destination, which seemed to be the classroom window. Several more loud thuds ensued, each noise causing another student in the room to turn and face the window.

One of the birds hit the window hard enough to break through, and the students ducked down in fear.

"Get down!" Said the woman in front, whose name we hadn't the chance to know. "Get down everyone!"

Some unknown force reached for my arm, and pulled me under the desk. My eyes were still fixated on the numerous birds swooping into the room, plucking at books and the heads of students and teachers alike.

The police arrived in mere minutes after the attack. I'm not sure what it was called actually, because I don't think there's a term for an attacked ensued by birds. Unless you live in a world where Birdemic is an actuality, which I really hope you don't. That movie was horrendous.

Peyton hadn't said anything to me, nor the other way around. We merely accompanied each other in these strange circumstances. "You okay?" He finally said, breaking the silence.

"Give me a reason not to be." I said, monotonously. "A blockade of birds just flew into our English class, and now the police are here for questioning."

Peyton nodded, slowly - taking in the obvious answer I gave him. "Okay, so not." He confirmed, sitting on his desk.

A few more moments silence.

"You know, I'm starting to regret becoming your friend." Peyton said, confusing me, but also making a warm feeling seep through my being. I didn't make connections in places I moved to, because I knew that my time there was finite. But the connections people made to me? Well, I hadn't known they existed. "Weird things happen around you."

Oh, how true that was. I looked away for a moment, watching the police swarm around the students of Beacon Hills. Their questions were endless, and needless. Somehow, their presence made me feel suffocated. It felt as though something bad were about to happen, and I was forced to hold my breath - waiting for it to happen.

I gave Peyton a smile, walking away from the wall I'd been leaning against. "I need to get out of here," I said. "I'll see you next class." I walked away from him, pushing past a couple of the police stationed at the school, and exited the room.

The hallway was deserted. I supposed not all of us could be so lucky to have our first course of the day disrupted in such a way. I leaned back against the wall, and slid down to the floor, my heart pounding in my chest. The scenario was all too familiar, reminding me of the swarms of policemen hounding me down, asking for descriptions of the man I had told them shot my father. I heard the door open, but didn't glance to see who had joined me out in the hall. "Are you okay?"

I looked over to the person joining me. There stood Stiles, his hand still lingering on the door frame. Stiles and I had only made a quick acquaintance at the warehouse, which wasn't the ideal situation to make new friendships. However he'd been kind to me, waving away the policemen who attempted to ask me more interrogative questions.

"Yeah," I said. "Just needed to get out of there."

Stiles stepped over to where I sat, and leaned against the wall, standing over me. "Are you, sure?" He proceeded to slide down the wall, his arms resting on his knees in front of him.

"You know..." I said, sounding somewhat galled. "People only tell others that they're fine because they want them to go away."

Silence ensued, as my eyes flickered towards him. Stiles had been very kind towards me, I didn't have the right to be so rude to him. "You don't actually have to go away, I'm just...bitter."

He cracked the slightest of smiles, and returned his attention to his hands. His fingers were slender, and he traced over his knuckles with his opposite hand. "I never saw you after the Kanima." Stiles thought aloud. "Where'd you go?"

Though he hadn't verbalised this question, I knew exactly what he was getting at. I hadn't realised how horrible this was, as it always seemed rather caring of others to do. When people me how things were being handled at home, I just wanted to scream. How the hell would you answer that question?

"Been busy."

"Your Mom?" Stiles guessed. "Didn't take the, uh, news too well?" I supposed that Stiles assumed my mother _hadn't _known about the Wolf problem that infested Beacon Hills, and for a moment I wished she didn't. I never thought I'd want the secret to be kept away from her, but this turn of events had changed my perspective.

"It's complicated."

Stiles gave me an annoyed look. "You know..." He mimicked. "People usually over complicate things in their heads. It's probably not as complex as you think it is."

"Really?" I said, emotions on a high. "Because I think the whole Dad dying thing was complicated enough, let alone the fact that now my Mom, who wasn't even supposed to know _anything, _actually knows _everything _and now we've got to keep this stupid secret from my sister, who's now a thousand miles away and _completely _clueless about everything, and that's not to mention the fact that everywhere I've looked there are _no _job offers, so we're probably going to get evicted soon, even though the building is crap as it is, and-"

I stopped in the middle of my sentence, and closed my eyes. Speaking about the eviction was something I'd barely come to terms with myself, so I suppose it must've snapped me out of my rant. I let us simmer in silence for a moment, before shaking my head. "Sorry, this is stupid." I could feel tears swelling up in my throat, and I had to quickly brush them away as the made their way to the surface. "Yeah, I should just leave." I stood up, and began to walk towards the school doors.

Stiles quickly shook his head, though they were more like rapid spasms, and began to get off his feet. "No." He said, placing a hand on my shoulder. I quickly squirmed out of his grip, and turned. I blinked, banishing the tears in my eyes. "I mean-" Stiles shook his head, searching for the right word to use. "I mean that it's not stupid. It's valid. Completely valid."

I stood there for a moment, soaking in his words. "Is that...all you wanted to say?" I asked, confused. Stiles stood there a while too, running his hand through his dark hair - which, I supposed, he must've grown out over the course of the summer.

Stiles didn't respond, so I merely looked down and sighed. "You know, I just realised that I actually have no where to go now..." I'd been grappling with the idea of leaving school early. Truly a great start to the year, I know. However, I couldn't go home. Any public situation would set me at risk of being found out by an authoritative figure. That wouldn't end well, as they'd probably drag me off to my mother afterwards anyway.

"Talk about something." I said, suddenly. "Just for a little while." I'd decided a distraction was in order, something to stop the battle of emotions inside me.

I could see Stiles' tongue moving about in his mouth, an idiosyncrasy he must not have taken note of. "Lydia hit a deer the other day," he said, which made my eyebrows knit together in confusion. I mean, I did ask for a distraction but I wasn't sure this was what I had in mind. "And today, in class, there was this bandage wrapped around her leg, so her dog must've bitten her."

"Literally all I've gathered from this conversation is that you have an unhealthy obsession with girls that are out of your league."

Stiles glanced over at me, with an expression of false hurt. "Haha."

I smiled, and looked down at my feet. "So, you think something's going on?" I asked, realising the meaning behind his absurd observations. I brought the sleeve of my deep purple shirt to my eyes, to wipe away the dried tears that had settled on my cheeks. "Have you told anyone?"

He ignored the wiping of my tears, and went on with his train of thought - which I was thankful for. "Just you."

I smirked, which must've been a strange sight to see alongside my probably bloodshot eyes. "What makes me so special?"

Before he had a chance to respond, the school bell rang. It was shortly followed by the bustling feet of eager students escaping class. I grabbed my bag from the floor, covering my face with it. This was the worst impression you could make on your first day of school. I've made plenty of bad first impressions to know that. "I'll see you later." I said, attempting to duck into the girls restroom before anyone could see me.

Stiles grabbed me by the shoulder, but also covered me well enough so that no one would pay me much attention. He sort of towered over me, as I shrunk into the corner. It might've looked slightly sketchy from another point of view, but I hadn't given that much thought. "I did try and tell Scott," he said. "But I think he's busy with Isaac, have you heard about him?"

I nodded, beginning to run through what I'd heard. "I mean, I know he's in the hospital. And that some crazy biker chick took him on a joyride."

"Yeah!" Stiles said, excited. Then he rethought his actions, and became more solemn. "Yeah, I mean. Scott asked me to meet him and Derek and his place, so they must have busted him out or something."

I waited for Stiles to continue, as he still hadn't directly involved me into this situation. "Why don't you text me?" I offered, hand outstretched. "If anything goes wrong, and I'm sure it will, you can text me."

Stiles pulled out his phone, and handed it to me. I punched the digits into his mobile, hoping they were the right ones - as I hadn't quite memorised them yet.

I handed the phone back to Stiles, who examined the contact I'd made for myself - perhaps making sure that it was actually a correct number. "I'll call you." He said, hurriedly.

"Good."

* * *

**Author's Notes: Well, I don't normally finish chapters this quickly! Not sure when I'll be posting it, but probably soon - as I love immediately putting up chapters as soon as I deem them fit enough. Since this was the first time I'd attempted to write Stiles, I really hope I did him justice. I feel like he's a really hard character to capture with words without making him to out of character. Anyways, leave your thoughts in a review - they make me smile! **

**And thanks to Monkey gone to heaven for being my first reviewer! I really hope you enjoyed this chapter :D**


	4. Becoming the Wolf

**Chapter Four: Becoming the Wolf**

* * *

Stiles did not call me. He had not called me that day. He had not called me the next day. He did not call me in the several long days that were to follow. His unexpected absence caused me to become worried, as I found myself staring at my phone for what seemed like hours at a time. I pondered over what Stiles was doing, and where he might be, and when he would finally pick up the phone and send me a message notifying me whether or not he was even still alive.

And that's not me being obsessive or compulsive or anything. I thought all these thoughts out of concern, you see. Concern for Stiles, for Scott, and for anyone else who might be involved in the shenanigans they seemed to constantly be entangled with.

Though it was an excruciatingly long twelve days later, my phone screen finally illuminated with his name. The minute I received the message, I stumbled across my room and scanned the words that were flashing across my screen. I ended up rather disappointed, as Stiles had only sent me an image of a poster that was slightly blurred because of his probable sporadic movement.

"_Missing: Heather Brinks." _

It was only several days later that I realised what the image was supposed to mean.

* * *

Peyton and I had been walking down the hallway, the walls were plastered under posters that advertised club meetings and other events that I was disinterested in. However, one of the posters seemed familiar to me.

I stopped walking and stared up at the black and white photograph on the wall, which showed a beautiful female who looked like she belonged on a cheer team. "Heather Brinks." I said, in a trance of sorts. Her name resounded through my mind, and lasted like an eternal echo.

Peyton had realised that I had stopped walking, and turned around to stand beside me. He glanced up at the poster of Heather and stared for a generous amount of time, but then turned towards me. "This is her?"

I nodded, and then looked away. "Stiles said she went missing at this party the other day."

Though the poster on the wall was printed in black and white, the photograph I had been sent was in colour. Saved on my phone was a the image of someone with lemony tresses and moss coloured eyes, which mimicked my own appearance to a much nicer extent. Where the hair on my head was dull and atrociously curled, hers was shiny and cascaded in delicate waves. Where her eyes were an emerald colour, entrancing in their entirety, mine were merely a much less desirable shade of swampy green.

Peyton nudged my shoulder, and encouraged me to stray away from the poster. He must've been unsure of why I was so transfixed by her disappearance in particular, considering disappearances were not so uncommon in Beacon Hills. "How is the job hunting going?"

"Same as always." I answered, as a breath of air escaped from my lips. "There's no one hiring, and the stack of bills is becoming taller than Mount Everest. Personally I think it looks like that scene in Harry Potter where all these letters are coming through the windows and are flooding down the chimney."

Despite the actual severity of the situation, Peyton chuckled. "Fear no more." He said, the same way a hero in an animated movie would. "I asked my boss if he would consider you, and he said that my word was good enough."

"You did not." I said in complete disbelief, so much so that I had stopped dead in my tracks. Peyton nodded, and I broke out into a smile. The smile soon became laughter. The laughter soon became an enormous feeling of relief. "Thank you!" I said, breathless. "Peyton, thank you so much."

Bashfully, Peyton shrugged. "Anytime Mia." For a moment I could have sworn his cheeks turned red, but they returned to their natural pale shade so fast that I barely noticed. "It's a Monday to Friday schedule, but they will occasionally call employees in on Sunday night. But we're as unpopular as it gets, so what else will we be doing?"

"You know what, I am offended by your comment." I said, with a completely serious expression yet with a completely sarcastic manner. "However it seems that you've saved my ass from eviction, so I will let it slide."

Okay, perhaps I was stretching his offer too far. It was more than likely that this job would allow me to earn minimum wage, if I made that much at all. However, ten dollars an hour was sure to make some sort of impact on our lives.

Smiling, Peyton shook his head. "Tone down the optimism," he said. "It's scary to see you this happy about something."

I laughed wholeheartedly at the comment, as Peyton held open the door to Economics for me. I ducked under his arm, as I wasn't that much shorter than him, and winced at the shouting that Coach subjected us to.

"Late! Hoffman, Ashworth, get yourselves sat down and do _not _make me write you up." His crude words barely meant anything to either of us, nor to anyone else, as everyone knew that Coach wasn't one to bench people - figuratively, that is. I knew from witnessing several more matches that Finstock had no problem letting Stiles - Stilinski, he called him - sit out during the entire game.

Coach turned back to the class, as Peyton and I shuffled back to the two seats that had been left unsoiled by our classmates. "The stock market is based on two principles." He said, raising two fingers. "What are they?"

I crossed my arms and rested my head on the desk, anticipating another dreadfully boring lesson on subjects that were completely irrelevant to me. Economics, who really needed those? What good would that do in the real world?

Scott was sitting in front of me, and though my eyes were partially covered by my arm saw him raise his hand. "Yes, McCall." Coach Finstock said. "You can go to the bathroom."

"No, Coach." Scott stuttered. "I know the answer."

He sneered as if he were making a joke, and even doubled over from the laughter. When he noticed that Scott had remained calm, his joy was abruptly put to a stop. "Oh, you're serious?"

"Yeah, it's risk and reward."

The coach was astonished, as he stepped toward Scott. "Who are you?" He asked. "And what have you done to McCall?" Scott smiled, clearly proud of himself, and was about to say something when the coach stopped him. "Don't answer that. I like you better." He stood up again, as he was leaning over to talk to Scott, and asked for a quarter from the audience.

Stiles immediately reached for his pocket, awkwardly groping around for a coin. As he did this, a bit of blue plastic flew from his jeans, and landed in the middle of the floor. My eyes dropped down to the object, and my eyebrows raised themselves in response. There sat a condom. A condom in the size extra _extra _large.

Well then.

I quickly averted my gaze, and tried to hide bout of laughter that was sure to escape from me, and the rush of blood flooding toward my cheeks. The coach had apparently taken note of this too, and picked the condom up. "Stilinski," he said. "I think you dropped this." Stiles, with a mortified expression, stuttered in his presence. "And congratulations."

I managed to let a giggle escape, as Stiles glanced in my direction. "Glad to see your self esteem hasn't been compensated." I let my head rest in my palm, as Stiles bashfully looked away, shrinking in his seat.

I turned my attention back to the front of the class, watching as Coach begin to explain certain economic policies I didn't quite get. He placed a mug from his desk on the floor, and bent down to align his sight with the cup. He gently tossed the quarter toward the cup, and, miraculously, he managed to throw it into the glass. Polite applause ensued, as the coach wore a look of pride. "Danny," he said, offering the coin to a boy in the front row. "Risk? Or reward?"

Danny, fiddling with the quarter asked a question. "What's the reward?"

"You don't have to take the pop quiz tomorrow." Finstock said, eliminating the whole popping essence of his quiz. Danny noticed this too, and corrected him. However, the coach was not pleased after that, and plucked the coin from his hand, and then offered it to Scott. "Risk or Reward?"

"But isn't this just chance?" Scott asked.

"No."Coach Finstock corrected "You know your abilities. Your coordination. Your focus. Your past experiences. All factors affecting the outcome. So what's it going to be McCall? More work? No work? Or choose not to play." As he was taunting Scott with these ideas, the boy twirled to coin in his hand, contemplating this choice deeply. He put the coin down on his desk, which the coach assumed was a forfeit. "Okay, who's next?"

Stiles drummed his fingers against his textbook, and shot up from his seat. "There's a gambling man!" Stiles took the coin from him, and kneeled down by the cup. However before he had the chance to do so, another Stilinski walked through the door, with a couple other men behind him.

"Stiles." His father said, drawing him from his concentration. He gestured for his son to follow the others out of the room, as all eyes in the class watched him leave. The coach, attempting to distract the class with the coin game once more, offered the quarter to Peyton, who, hesitantly, accepted.

Although I had tried to pay attention to Peyton, and attempted to cheer when he somehow managed to toss it into the cup, I was too fixated on listening in on the conversation that was taking place just outside the door.

_"All her friends say you're the last person who saw her." _

Peyton tapped my shoulder while he made his way to his seat behind me. "Did you see that?" He said, psyched. "I never do things like that! I figured I'd end up writing that essay, but did you see what I did?"

I tried for a smile, although it probably looked as though it were a grimace. "That was really cool," I said, insincerely, as I was still catching remnants of conversation.

_"If you remember anything else. You call me."_

The bell rang, stinging my ears, which were hypersensitive due to my eavesdropping in plain sight. "Hey." I said, quickly packing up my things. "I've got to go talk to someone."

"Okay," Peyton said. "Do you want to meet up for lunch later?"

I gravelled with the thought, and shrugged my shoulders. "Maybe, but no promises. I'll text you, okay?" I glanced up, and saw Scott catching up with Stiles outside. "Gotta go," I stammered, and rushed after the two boys.

I quickly caught up with them in the hall, just as they were discussing the events that had happened at the party a couple days ago. "Derek says it's easier to turn teenagers," Stiles said, just as I pulled up behind them.

"You think they turned her?" I asked, as the two of them glanced in my direction. "That girl who went missing?" Though I wasn't entirely clear on the Alpha epidemic that seemed to be going on, I had a rough idea of what was occurring. Alphas, turning new wolves, gaining strength from their turnings. It terrified me.

"Maybe." Scott said, doubtfully. "But what would a pack of Alpha's need with a Beta?"

My eyes widened. "And is that who took Isaac?" I asked, attempting to get up to speed with the situation. I turned to Stiles, "That day when the birds attacked, with the wacko lady on the motor demon?"

"Amy," Scott said, as I was taken aback by the use of that name. "We don't really have any idea about what's happening, okay?"

With my arms crossed, I defiantly raised my brows. "Don't call me Amy." I said. "That's what everyone called this girl I knew back in the second grade. She used to collect caterpillars and afterwards she'd give them out as birthday presents. They were usually dead."

"Okay, you know what? I don't really care." Stiles said, stressing each syllable. "Alright this girl…" He moved his hands frantically, trying to think of the right way to describe her. "Our mom's were best friends before mine died, alright? We used to take freaking bubble baths together when we were three. I gotta find her."

My features softened upon hearing this news, as old as it seemed to be. I hadn't thought about where Stiles's mother was, much less considered the possibility that she may have been dead. He'd always seemed like such a normal person, in comparison to the other people I knew. In comparison to myself. I never would have guessed that his life was anything less than perfect. There was silence for a few moments, and then Scott made another point. "Don't we need Isaac to remember?"

"How?" Stiles asked. "Peter and Derek couldn't do it. Do you know any other werewolves with a better trick?"

Scott had stopped walking, as Stiles and I turned around expectantly. "Maybe not a werewolf," Scott said. "But someone knows a lot about them."

He began to quicken his pace again, pushing past Stiles and I - who were both equally confused. I grabbed Stiles, who was about to race after his friend. He turned around, and so did Scott upon realising that Stiles had failed to follow his pace.

Stiles looked back to me hesitantly, then towards Scott. "I'll be there in a minute," he said, vaguely. Scott looked between the two of us, possibly wondering what we shared that he didn't, then bolted out the door.

As soon as he left my line of sight, I turned back to Stiles. "So, what the hell?" I said, plainly. I hadn't expected to be so blatantly angry with him, but apparently I was. "One text, without any context whatsoever, since I saw you last?"

"'Melia," He said, sounding like he was mentally punishing himself. "I'm sorry," Stiles said, finally deciding on what exactly to say. "But, really? I've kind of been busy with all the new you-know-what's running around, do you really think I have time to take doughnut and coffee breaks in between?"

I looked away, tiredly. Yes, all that was true. And I knew it, but how could he expect me to sit idly by while there was all this destruction going on behind the scenes? "Yeah, I know." I managed to bite out, "I'm sorry."

There was a moment of awkward pause between us, as there didn't seem to be much else to say. It wasn't like we were friends, and it wasn't like we had anything else to talk about. "Call me though," I found myself saying. "For real this time, with a little more context and explanation to the stuff you two are getting yourselves into."

Stiles smiled, and let out a chuckle. "Yeah, yeah, I promise. I'll call you."

"Well, good then."

He nodded, and then gestured to the door. I nodded, feverishly, and pushed him to go onwards. I watched him leave the building, pushing on the door, glancing back for a moment - though perhaps that was my imagination - and then watching the door close behind him.

I stood there for a second, as I am often prone to do in situations that confuse me. People pushed past me, giving me strange looks, and murmurs arose in the groups around me. Once the gossip became too much, I tore myself away from the scene and plodded down the hall.

It was aimless meandering, what I was doing. I had no intention of actually attending my next class, not after the disaster that had been economics. With no intentions in mind, I watched the students of Beacon Hills frantically, and some not so frantically, make their ways down the hall - as to not be late to their next classes.

At the very end of the hall, right by the water fountain, I spotted a head of dark hair. Her shiny tresses stood out in the crowd, as did her pale - almost luminescent - skin. However, to everyone else, it seemed she was just an ordinary student. To me, she was everything. Everything about Allison Argent reminded me of my father, of how he died.

Apprehensively, I darted towards her - before I lost any nerve that I had. "Allison," I said, trying my best to keep my voice level.

She turned around, tentatively, looking at me with a look of confusion. I had stopped walking a couple feet away from her, not bothering to invade her space anymore since most people around us had scuffled off to class. I opened my mouth the speak, but closed it once I saw that Allison had done the same.

"You can talk-"

"No, no go ahead."

We had spoken at the same time, and both embarrassingly looked away as we did. What was I supposed to do? It's not like you can Google what to say to the girl who shot an arrow towards your father in the leg, and whose grandfather actually shot and murdered him. Maybe I should write that article.

"Listen, I'm sorry." Allison said, still avoiding my eye. "I know, you must hate me - and I don't blame you! I hate me for what I did, and I know I can't reverse it, and you don't have to forgive me, but I wanted you to know that I'm sorry. Truly, truly sorry for what happened."

I was taken aback by her rapid fire apology, I hadn't even expected one. Yes, I was angry. Yes, part of me blamed Allison for what happened. Hell, a _lot _of me blamed Allison for what happened - but I was smarter than that. She couldn't have done anything. I think, deep down, everyone knows that. It's just hard to accept, I've still barely accepted anything that's happened.

"Allison, forget it." I said, harshly. "I don't want to talk about it, ever. I don't want to remember it, and you don't have to either." I allowed a moment of silence to pass, so the information could properly sink in. "But, you can't deny that you owe me a favour."

_Now _came the Allison that I had known on the night of my father's death. Her eyes narrowed, and she straightened her stance. "Like what?" She asked, suspiciously.

I ignored the obvious barriers she had quickly put up between us, and glanced around. By now everyone was sure to be in class, though Allison didn't seem to mind that we were missing ours - strange, I never thought of her to be like that.

"When dear old Dad kicked the bucket," I said, hating myself for it because I was making it seem like some sort of horrid joke rather than the tragedy that was taking over my life. "I felt helpless. Gerard had that gun pointed at me, and I couldn't do anything about it. I'm...I'm not as _talented_ as Scott, and there's no way that he could teach me how to protect myself like he does." I let myself breathe, as Allison cocked her head - unsure of what I was asking her.

"Allison, I want you to teach me how to use a gun."

* * *

**Author's Notes: I have found myself in a writing slump for no reason whatsoever, and I feel like I should just apologise right now for that. I hate not writing, especially when I have a thousand ideas floating around in my head. Oh well. Regardless of all that, hope you enjoyed the chapter! Glad you all got to see a bit more Stiles and Amelia action, if you can call it that. Next chapter will be more of Amelia's personal life, which I'm super excited to write! Make sure to write up a review for me - they're my inspiration and motivation to write. **


	5. Hit and Miss, and Miss, and Miss

**Chapter Five: Hit and Miss, and Miss, and Miss**

* * *

The bell attached to the entrance door rang, meaning that another customer had entered this _fine _establishment.

Before this I never realised that Peyton could have a life outside of the one that I had already come to know. It would have been a reasonable assumption, considering his place of residence. No one who lived in that building chose to live there.

"Oi, Mia." I heard the familiar voice say. Peyton swerved through the maze of tables and tapped the phone in my hands. "Boss is coming, put that thing away."

I glanced down at my phone, a message from Stiles on the screen. However this time it was not Stiles who I was waiting on, but the infamous Allison Argent. I hadn't spoken to her since the other day at school, when she had said that she wanted to think about my proposition before accepting.

**Stiles Stilinski: Scott thinks it's his fault. He's a wreck. **

My brows furrowed of their own accord, as I tried to understand what was happening. I had no idea how this rumour came about, but Derek Hale was to be presumed dead. I wasn't exactly surprised, but I felt the pain of loss as well. We weren't close, not even in the slightest, but somehow I felt to be a part of this.

**Amelia Hoffman: Do you even know if he's actually gone?**

I felt a tap on my shoulder, and snapped my phone shut. "Nott is on the move." I smirked, and tucked my phone into my apron. I grabbed one of the cardboard cups stacked in the back, and began to get back to work.

"Ashworth!" Richard Nott shouted from across the room. His cacophony caused several people to turn, and witness the drama that was unfolding. "Where's the band?"

Richard Nott was our wonderful employer. Do not get me wrong when I say this: Richard was possibly the worst person I knew. He was ungrateful to the employees and absolutely shit to the customers. However, despicable as he was, Richard Nott was a decent boss. He let Peyton and I run things in his absence, and never made us work late, and the compensation was decent.

Peyton, confused, shook his head. "The-the band?"

"Yes!" Nott whispered. My head turned in their direction, and I put down the cup that was in my hand. "The band that is supposed to be playing on stage now."

"They should be here now, they did say six o'clock." Peyton looked at his watch to prove that he knew what he was talking about, but Nott didn't seem to care about the technicalities of the situation - in fact, he just seemed to become more infuriated.

Peyton dug into his pocket, and pulled out his phone. His eyes widened at the sight of his first notification. "Oh, that is...very _not _good." His eyes flickered upward, and met with Richard's. "They've cancelled. There's this gig out in Hampton, and they've decided to drive out tonight."

Richard sighed, and ran a hand through his non-existant head of hair. "Great. No, really. I _love_ this. I really think this is great." I don't exactly know who Richard was speaking to, personally I still think he was insane to begin with. "Hoffman," Richard said suddenly. "Didn't you say you played piano? In your resume."

My resume. Peyton had pretty much insinuated that the job was mine to begin with, and that the resume was merely a formality. So I took the opportunity to come up with some bullshit.

Yeah, I have had a job in waitressing before.

And I'm absolutely _great _with people.

I can totally brew coffee! Mocha, Latte, you name it!

Piano, oddly enough, wasn't one of the lies I had put down to paper.

"Well, some."

Richard's eyes lit up, causing my stomach to sink. "Play tonight." He said, his voice a bit too desperate than I was used to hearing. "Come on, Hoffman - just a couple songs, or until we get ahold of the backup."

I sighed, and shrugged. "There's not even really anyone here. I doubt that they'll care about whether the ambiance is exactly to their liking."

Richard, still wearing a stoic expression, stepped closer towards me - making me want to jump backwards, but I managed to stay put. "Listen Hoffman, see that guy in the back?"

I let my eyes wash over Richard, and looked to the man. He seemed ordinary enough, clicking away on the keyboard in front of him. His eyes shot up every few seconds, taking in his surroundings.

"Yeah" I said, unsure. "Why are you trying so hard to impress _him_? He your boyfriend or something?" I pursed my lips, and mentally cursed at myself for letting that slip out. I hadn't even been working for a month and I was already verbally attacking my boss.

Richard, though I suspected he was even more infuriated than he was seconds ago, kept his eyes locked on mine. "He's from a magazine company called _Cafe Monthly _and he wanted to write a review about us."

There were so many things wrong with that statement. I mean, who would willingly _want _to come to this place anyway? However I'd already insulted Richard once today, so I held my tongue.

"Mia, please." Peyton said, the gritted teeth. I knew what he was thinking. Perhaps if I just conceded to his demands Peyton would be let off the hook, since he was the one who had secured my place here.

"Fine." I said, speaking to Richard but talking to Peyton. "I'll play one song, but that's it. And, I'm leaving right after. Peyton here," I gripped him by the shoulder, "Can handle the rest."

Richard didn't seem to mind that at all, but Peyton gave me a look that somehow showed gratitude and distaste at the same time. I stuck my tongue out at him as Richard pulled me up on stage, and sat me down at the piano.

After the kerfuffle that had occurred behind the counter moments ago, nearly all the eyes in the cafe were on me. I forced myself to look down, and chewed on the inside of my cheeks.

Yes, I did know how to play certain songs on the piano. I really liked playing them actually, I just was on the move so often that I never had the time to practice, or the time to bother with musical theory. I could not tell you where certain cords were, or which one was which.

I learned by listening.

Tentatively, I pressed one of the buttons in the middle. I did it at turtle speed, so the sound would not be as obvious to the spectators in the room. The noise resounded through the room, but that might have been my imagination.

I could hear a groan in the background, and whispers of assurance. I could already tell that Richard was considering getting rid of me permanently. I took another breath, and began playing around with the sounds.

Finally, I pressed down on the correct note. I smiled, and placed my hands over the instrument.

With each note, I could hear the lyrics echo through my head.

_Hold me close and hold me fast_

_This magic spell you cast_

_This is la vie en rose_

It was my parents wedding song, if you could call it a wedding. Clearly they weren't the most conventional of couples, but my mother and father didn't mind that so much. They liked being unique, and so they were content with their sudden decision to married in Chicago at midnight.

_When you kiss me heaven sighs_

_And though I close my eyes_

_I see la vie en rose_

It was me who had given them the idea, to be married. One day, while we aimlessly driving down the road, I asked:

"Why didn't you ever get married?"

My parents glanced to each other, contemplating my question. "I have absolutely no idea, Mia." He said, smiling at my mother. She was beautiful now, and especially beautiful then. It was no wonder my father fell in love with her. "Do...you want to get married?"

I watched my mother break into the biggest smile I had ever seen her wear. "Carson Hoffman." She said, in the disciplinary tone she used with Margo and I. "Are you asking me to marry you?"

My father tore his eyes away from the road for just a moment - terribly irresponsible of him, but nonetheless sweet. "Yes. I am."

_When you press me to your heart_

_I'm in a world apart_

_A world where roses bloom_

That night my father drove into downtown Chicago, and got registered for a marriage license down in court. Margo and I were bubbling with excitement, she more than I was. She had requested we get flowers for them once they came out of court, so we scrambled together what little money we owned and bought a bouquet from the nearest gas station.

White roses. My mother loved them.

_And when you speak angels sing from above_

_Everyday words seem _

_To turn into love songs_

Dusk had passed by the time Margo had spotted our parents exit the courthouse. As they walked down the steps leading into the street, my father took her hand and spun her into his arms.

"I think there's music playing." Margo whispered to me, though there was no need to. She was completely enchanted. "Look, Mia. They're _dancing._"

And so it was.

They danced like they'd been learning for a lifetime. The way they moved made it seem like they were gliding on water. Even from here you could see the smiles that graced their faces, the ones that were only meant for each other.

I heard the first tunes of the song slink in through the window, as Margo rolled hers down. "She's gorgeous isn't she?"

Margo needed no further explanation. Mom was a vision. Her golden tresses cascaded down her back in a way I had never been able to manage. She could have had anyone she wanted, but her heart was already in someone else's possession.

_Give your heart and soul to me_

_And life will always be_

_La vie en rose_

"She is."

The song had finished, and even earned me the smallest round of applause. I grinned slightly, and gave a nod towards the crowd to acknowledge it. I scurried off the stage, only to receive more praise from Peyton.

"That was really good." He said, impressed. "I didn't know you were that good."

I shook my head, and smiled. "I'm not. Did you even hear me? I barely know where the notes are."

Peyton rolled his eyes, and folded his arms across his chest. "Well, _I _thought you were great." He said, as he turned from me. "And I think Nott was impressed too."

I glanced over to the man, who was handing platters of delicacies to the customers. He seemed to be in deep conversation with one of them, and looked over to me a couple times as well. "Neither here nor there." I said, even though I so obviously swelled with pride.

There was a vibration that was sent through my phone, so I reached into my pocket and pulled the mobile out. I had expected a reply from Stiles, but had gotten something entirely different.

**Allison Argent: We start tonight.**

My heart fluttered with excitement, but I felt a presence over my shoulder which caused dread to ebb the positive emotions away. I snapped my phone shut, and turned around just in time to watch Peyton turn away.

* * *

After that performance was over, I had rushed out of the building faster than I would have had it been infested with direwolves. Peyton had not given me any indication that he knew what the text had said, but I was worried nonetheless.

I could not get Peyton involved in all this. I _wouldn't._

For the moment, I pushed the thought aside. There were a million excuses I could use for Allison. I would just tell him that she was my partner for some work we needed to do for some class.

Because that was believable.

I raced down the street to the car and started the engine as soon as I boarded. Allison had sent me the details about our adventure and I had read them whilst on the walk here.

When I arrived, I noticed that there was next to no one here. Allison had directed me to an indoor gunning area, and I had thought that it would have been in more use than it was. I mean, this was Beacon Hills.

There was no one when I walked in either. I heard a shot down the corridor, and walked down. It was exactly what I was expecting. There were red splotches of pain several feet away from the stands to shoot at, and a wall of machinery to borrow.

And of course there was Allison Argent. She stood at the very end of the hall, seeming determined with the machine in her hands. She shot at the wall several times, without even noticing my presence. When the last of the bullets had been used, she removed the protective head gear around her ears and looked towards me.

I started to shake. I didn't understand why, because I had been looking forward to this evening ever since the idea had come to me. "This is more like it Argent." I said, as I stepped towards her. "I always envisioned you as a badass, not some obnoxious teenager who prances around in dresses."

Allison knitted her brows, but smiled. "Guess I'm not who you thought I was."

I shook off the response, and took a breath. "Where do we start?" I asked, looking at the wall behind her. It seemed to extend forever, holding various items of mass destruction for us to meddle with.

She seemed glad to get straight to the point. "Right," Allison said. She swiped something from the counter and handed them to me. "Put these on." She had handed me some clear glasses like the ones she was wearing, and some cotton to block out the sound.

"Because I'm going to have time to scramble for these when I'm surrounded." I said, sarcastically.

Allison cocked her head, and shrugged. "If you want your eardrums blown I'll leave that to you." She said, with equal amounts of sarcasm.

Reluctantly, because my pride had been wounded, I shoved the glasses on. I would use the ear protector cotton whatever when I was actually in need of protective ear wear. "What now?" I asked.

Allison leaned over to the supplies wall - a daunting slab of cement that hundreds of weapons had been hung upon - and plucked two devices from their places. "Revolver." She said, gesturing to the item in the first hand. "Semiautomatic."

My eyes washed over the two, analysing them for their difference. However the only difference I had noticed seemed to be that the revolver looked like something pulled out of an old western movie. "Which am I using?"

"Semiautomatic." Allison said. She seemed to know exactly what she was doing, or at least had the attitude to seem like she knew what she was doing. "Ideally, I would show you how to work the revolver first." Allison went on, proving that this was not merely the appearance of knowing. "f you learn how to use one of those, then the automatic will come easy."

"But?" I questioned.

Allison smiled, the sort of smile when two people share a common secret. "Do you really think it's going to matter in our situation?" She asked, cocking her head to the right. "Besides, no one uses revolvers anymore. Everything's automatic."

"Robots taking over the world and everything." I mumbled. "So, what's the deal? I just point and shoot?"

Nodding her head from side to side, Allison shrugged. "Theoretically, but there's more to it than that. First check if the gun is even loaded. It would be a pretty bad situation if it was not."

Allison grabbed something that had been set aside, and began to load the metal container, as I made sure to take note of how she pressed the ammunition all the way into the back, and how she slid the metal container into the gun. "That was the magazine." Allison said, without taking her eyes away from the machine. "When you're loading up, make sure to press straight down and then slide back."

_Press straight down, slide back. _I repeated in my head. "What's next?"

"Next, we shoot." She looked down at the gun in her hand, and then held it out to me. "Go for it."

"You just want me to..." I gestured to the gun in her hands, and she nodded. "Fine." I took the machine out of her hands, and tested the weight. It didn't feel any heavier than a book, but it was foreign in my hands.

"Keep your fingers out of the trigger guard." Allison said, as if I was supposed to know what that meant. I readjusted my hold, and she seemed to approve.

Feeling as though the gun was about to topple over, the weight distribution uneven in my hands, I placed my left on the other side - both steadying it, and properly aiming it at the target several meters in front me.

Though I had a completely clear shot, I saw my hand begin to shake. Gerard had been in this exact position months ago, pointing at my father. And now, here I was. Doing the exact same thing. Would learning how to aim a firearm really help me? Or would I end up the same way? Would I become a killer?

"Amelia?" Allison took a step towards me, as if she could read my thoughts. "What is wrong." It was more of a statement than it was a question.

I dropped my hand and the gun clattered against the counter. "This was stupid." I announced, with a bitter expression. "I never do stuff like this. I should not have even tried."

This is where a dramatic exit should have occurred, but it did not. Instead I decided to stand there. My eyes were closed, and Allison had her eyes locked on me. "Amelia." She spoke in a completely steady tone, calming me in the darkness. "

"Amelia," Allison said, in a completely steady tone. "Guns do not kill people. The person behind it does." She took a breath. "Gerard killed your father, not the gun."

"Well it had a pretty damn large part in it." God, I was such a hypocrite. I had asked Allison to teach me something that I had no intent in ever doing.

I refused to become a killer.

"Mia." Allison said, shocking me, because I had never heard her use that name before. "If you don't want to to do this-"

"I don't." I sighed, and then shook my head. "I don't right now."

"That's fine, Mia." Allison said, completely understanding. "Go home."

And so I did.

* * *

**Authors Notes: I love Allison. Really wish Crystal Reed would have stayed on :( Oh well. Anyways, here is a second update in two days for you all! I'm trying my best to get all this writing done. As I've said before, I know pretty much exactly where this story is going, so I want to get it done! **

**Make sure to leave a review, they really make me smile :) **


	6. Forget

**Chapter Six: Forget**

* * *

I never had more than three contacts on my phone before. Really, who else would I ever need to contact other than my parents? And that third number I had saved belonged to my sister, but she never called me. And I _definitely _was not going to be the first one to cave and send her a message.

Moving on. The point was that I had never had more than three people to call before, and now that number had doubled. Not to mention that I had people calling _me. _Peyton had sent hundreds of messages, and had been attempting to get ahold of me for weeks.

Listen, I _liked _Peyton. He was one of those impossible guys who were actually nice to you with no catch whatsoever. He was genuine, and actually kind of hilarious at times. Plus, he got me a job_. _More than that, he understood _why _I needed one so desperately.

Everyone here at Beacon Hills would find this impossible to relate to. They lived in houses with white fences, and probably spent their free time rolling around in their pools filled with money. Peyton and I lived in a rundown apartment building, which the government must have forgotten about. If they had paid even the slightest bit of attention to the place, they would have realised what a hazard it was to the community and demolished it a while ago.

But because he was living there, he understood where I was coming from. See, no one lived in that place by choice. People lived there by necessity, not desire. It was where all the former convicts went when they were released, where the prostitutes lived _and_ worked, and where the addicts shot up behind the dumpsters downstairs.

Which is why I couldn't drag him into this. He had never gotten into the specifics of how had landed that horrid apartment across the hall, and I never asked - because I knew that I _definitely _wouldn't want to be asked.

Regardless, that meant that Peyton had a story that must equate to the absolute shit that I felt mine was, and I knew that I would not be up to sharing that tale with anyone. He really did not need anything else added on top of that burden.

I closed my eyes and rested my head against the steering wheel of my truck. I pushed Peyton from my mind. He was the least of my worries at the moment.

The person that I _should _have been worried about was a certain dark haired teenager who had taught me how to hold a gun. Or she had tried to. After the abrupt ending to our lesson, Allison had sent me a text and tried to console me in some absurd way. I promptly decided to dismiss all these messages, and was even considering blocking the number when she sent me a more alarming message.

_**Allison Argent: Gas station tomorrow. Pack for overnight. **_

I would say that a million questions ran through my head in that moment, but that would be a blatant lie. It was weird, because I knew that I should have probably sent a follow up text asking why Allison wanted me to drive all the way out to the intersection and pick her up. Or why it was so important that she needed to send me a text in the middle of the night. Or why she couldn't drive herself there. But instead I shrugged and went with it.

"Mom," I had said as I stormed into the kitchen. "I'm going to be gone for the weekend."

My mother's head snapped around so fast I swear she should have broken her neck. "Where?" She asked. It was the first contact I had voluntarily initiated with her in weeks, so I suppose it did come as quite a shock.

"I'm on the cross country team." I said, the lie escaped between my teeth so easily. I couldn't even pretend that was a semi-lie. I had no interest in any of the extracurricular activities the high school offered. I mean, there were like three separate math clubs.

"You are?" My mother said, just as surprised as I thought she would be. "I didn't know you liked to run."

"Well, yeah." I said, nearly choking on a chuckle. Considering I had been running pretty much all my life, I wondered if my mother was really all that surprised. "I'll text you or something." I said, swinging my backpack over my shoulder.

"Okay!" She said, way too exuberantly for my taste. "Be safe! Have fun!"

Each word caused my heart to pang with guilt. I still held a strong distaste for my mother, but it was hard to keep up this act every minute of every hour of every day. In the morning all I saw was her over eager, but soon to be disappointed, expression. I hated what she'd done, but I was beginning to see how she managed to keep her secrets from us all these years.

Was my reasoning for keeping Peyton in the dark really so different from hers?

I was dragged from my thoughts by an incessant tapping at the window. I turned, and spotted Allison. Beside her was the redhead I often spotted Allison trotting behind at school.

"Who's the ginger?"

Her hair was obnoxiously perfect. It wasn't actually as vibrant a colour as I have described it, and was actually far more muted than that. It was the perfect shade of red. And her eyes the perfect shade of brown. She kind of reminded me of my sister, with her perfect poise and dangerous, but somehow hypnotic, stare.

Allison turned towards her, probably with apologetic eyes, and then back to me. "Lydia, this is Mia, and, Mia, this would be Lydia."

"_Not _ginger, by the way." Lydia haughtily corrected. "Besides, if we're talking about the art of disguise, you're no winner either. I thought the whole point of taking someone else's car was to be inconspicuous?" She told Allison. "Riding in a giant red truck isn't exactly the best way to do that."

"Don't bash the truck." I said, rather defensively. My voice echoed throughout the seemingly abandoned gas station. "And I'm not exactly glad to be here either. Actually, you know what, you are lucky I'm here at all! You gave me literally no context as to what we were going to be doing, and just expected me to go along with it!"

"Okay!" Allison said, with a ferocity that brought me back to a night I didn't want to soon remember. "We get it, this is all really _really _screwed up. That's not the problem right now. _Scott _is our problem, and we need to head out _now._"

Lydia sighed, which indicated her acceptance of the matter. She yanked open the car door, as my truck creaked - as if it were physically rejecting her presence. "This is worse than Stiles' jeep." She mumbled, sliding into the back as Allison crawled into shotgun.

"Don't. Bash. The. Truck." I repeated, stepping on the pedal. "And we won't have any problems."

* * *

_**Amelia R-H: **__Sorry. Something came up. Urgent. Phone died. _

_**Shyla Rooney: **__Are you okay? What happened?_

_**Amelia R-H: **_ _Disaster. _

Yes, disaster seemed to strike wherever I treaded lately.

As it turned out, Allison had the brilliant plan to become the most protective girlfriend in all of the world. Which somehow led us to more danger and destruction. To sum up what had happened in the span of a few words: We almost died, again.

_**Shyla Rooney: **__What happened?_

Scott was being a drama queen. Pretty much the biggest drama queen in all of existence. So much so that he took all the attention off of Derek, who had _died, _and pulled himself into the spotlight because of how _guilty _he felt about the situation.

_**Amelia R-H: **__Another near death experience to add to the collection._

Or that's what went on in my head. It was much more reasonable in reality. Scott was feeling so immensely bad that it had actually taken a toll on his ability to heal. I suppose Allison had the correct hunch to decide to follow him that evening. Maybe they were soulmates after all.

Meanwhile Stiles and the rest of them still had not uncovered the reasons behind these cubed murders, and I still did not understand their fascination with them. Fascination was a loose term to use. _Obsession _is more accurate.

_**Shyla Rooney: **__Where are you?_

"This is a no _smoking _room!" Lydia called from the linen closet. "Yet all these towels smell like nicotine!" She threw several towels onto the floor, and reached into the drawers to seek out more.

My eyes rolled on their own accord. Lydia was everything that I thought she would be. She was obnoxiously gorgeous, obnoxiously rich, and obnoxiously spoiled. She had probably only spent the night in five star hotels. She must not be used to the harsh conditions of the average _motel. _

_**Amelia Rooney: **__Some motel. Coach said we can still make the meet tomorrow. _

"Go downstairs and ask for some." I drawled. "And by some towels, I actually mean all the towels. This floor is not comfortable, and I need something more substantial to sleep on."

When we arrived at this fine establishment, I had low expectations. Considering that these low expectations came from someone who spent their entire childhood in various motels, I am really saying something when I tell you that this room was horrible.

First and foremost, the entire place was filled with a horrible stench. It was sealed in the floor, and leaked from the walls. There were only two beds, leaving one of us to sleep on the ground, which was hidden under a carpet with several mysterious looking stains on it. Lydia instantly called the first bed, and Allison was quick to follow.

Whoopee.

"If you want towels," Lydia said with her arms crossed, "You have to get them yourself."

I groaned at the suggestion, but then heard Allison start to shout at me from the bathroom. "Be back soon!" She added, as we stumbled out the door. "I don't want to spend anymore time than I have to in the shower of doom."

"Why doesn't she have to get her own towels?" Lydia smacked my shoulder for that comment as she strode outside.

We hobbled down the staircase, and walked up to the front desk. Behind it stood a woman with hair that seemed to be greying. Lydia plopped the stack of towels she brought down with her on the desk, and grabbed the woman's attention. "The card on the dresser said that we have a non-smoking room," she said. "But somehow all of our towels reek of nicotine."

"Sorry about that sweetheart," the woman said. Her voice was deep, and it was almost as if she were croaking. In her neck was a tube that protruded outward, put there by years of smoking.

I looked over to Lydia, whose eyes were fixated on something on the opposite wall. "What's that?" My eyes washed over to the number on the wall that she was gesturing to. The number did not seem to hold much significance, and I would not have even noticed it had I been alone.

"It's an inside thing for the hotel." The woman answered, as I noticed she used the world _hotel _instead of _motel. _I had never been in a hotel before, but I knew enough about _mo_tels to know that this was one of the worse ones. "My husband insists on keeping it up."

When I looked over to Lydia she seemed just as confused as I was. "What does it mean?" I asked.

This woman was impressed that we still wanted to know what the meaning behind this number was, which indicated that we probably would have been better off not knowing the truth behind it. "Bit of a morbid answer. You sure you wanna know?"

"Tell us." Her response was fluid, and certain. However Lydia's expression proved otherwise. It looked like she was attempting to hold in her fear, but she was still letting it spill through her eyes.

I couldn't keep my eyes off of the tube in the woman's throat, as it bobbed up and down when she spoke. "We're not going to make the top of the list when it comes to customer satisfaction. But we are number one in California when it comes to one little detail. Since opening, more than any other motel in California, we have the most guest _suicides._"

"One hundred and ninety eight." Lydia stated. She did not seem to disbelieve this statement, but something about her tone indicated a certain level of disbelief.

"Why would you want to...commemorate that?"

She laughed eerily, the tube bobbing up and down as she did. "First place is first place."

* * *

"One hundred and ninety eight." I muttered, scribbling on a scrap piece of paper. "That would be one point eight people each day over the course of one year." I said, dropping the pencil as soon as my calculations were done. Math was not my strong suit, but I was a thousand percent sure of this number. "Actually, the fact that we have one eighth of a person scares me slightly more than the actual suicides."

"Are you sure it was a hundred and ninety eight?" Allison asked, as she walked out of the bathroom. She was drying her hair with one of the nicotine scented towels that Lydia and I had forgotten to complain about downstairs.

Lydia nodded from her spot on the bed. She had been so lost in deep thought that she had barely said a word since we returned. Admittedly, this was reasonable. However it was a strange state to see Lydia in. "We're actually talking forty years." She corrected. "On average..."

"Just give me a minute." I said, grabbing the piece of paper once more. Except that Lydia did not need to see the calculations written down, and had already formulated an answer.

"Four point nine five a year, which is actually expected." She went on. "But who commemorates that with a framed number?"

"If anyone were to walk into a haunted hotel, it would be us."

There was silence. Lydia had picked a spot on the ground, and had been staring at it with her brows furrowed. She turned to face the wall opposite to her, standing up and backing away. "Did you hear that?"

Allison and I both shook our heads. "Are you alright?" I asked. "I'm the one with bionic hearing after all, and I can't let you take that away from me too." She already had the mathematical skills I didn't possess to begin with.

Lydia didn't see the humour in my words, and climbed on top of her bed, pressing her ear to the air vent. As time passed on, she began to whimper, tears forming in her wide eyes. "Lydia?" Allison said, carefully.

She jolted backward, her hand clasped over her mouth. "Lydia," I said. "What was that? What did you hear?" Clearly I _wasn't _the only one with bionic hearing around here. I didn't know all that much about banshees, but I pretty much just assumed that they saw things in dreams or whatever it was that happened in Inception. Apparently that was not the case.

"Didn't _you _hear that?" Lydia asked, staring at me accusingly. "The two people in the other room." She went on to say, taking several large steps toward the door. "They shot each other."

We followed Lydia outside, as she frantically searched for a way into the adjacent room. She found the door and pushed it open, surprised to find it unlocked. I rushed in after her and only seeing an empty room under construction. "Hello?" Lydia called. She reached for the lights, but they failed to illuminate the room.

She must have been convinced that something was wrong, because she continued to venture into the dark room, calling out for someone. "It had to be right here." Lydia said, frustrated. "They sounded younger, but they were here."

Allison walked behind Lydia, as she nodded her head with understanding. "I believe you. After everything we have been through, I believe you."

"Me too." I chimed in. "I don't have any other choice, but I do." My dislike for Lydia had not subsided, but seeing her so terrified wasn't something I could simply brush off.

Lydia seemed more relieved, but still tense considering she _was_ in the room where she believed two people had been murdered. She then turned around, frightened. She gravitated toward the other side of the space, treading in dangerous waters. "We have to go." Lydia said quietly. "We have to go!"

For the second time that night, she burst out of the room and into the hallway. Allison and I looked towards each other for a second, before we darted back towards our room. "There is something seriously wrong with this place." Lydia said once we entered. "We need to leave."

I nodded, attempting to do my best to be somewhat understanding. "You have made that clear. But, if there is something wrong, don't you think we should do something? I mean, are we just going to let people kill themselves for no reason?"

"You know what? I don't care." Lydia said, exasperated. "It's not _our job _to save people! And it doesn't exactly sound like they want to be saved, does it? You know, I bet that couple killed themselves in that very room. Maybe that's why they're doing renovations. Maybe they've been scraping brain matter off the wood panelling!"

Allison glanced toward me, indicating that she agreed with what I'd said. "Maybe we should find out."

* * *

Allison's first instinct was to rush back down stairs and examine the foreboding number on the wall herself, which evidently turned out to be a good thing. Sort of a good thing. A good thing because since Lydia and I had been gone, the number had gone up three places.

"Three more suicides in the past ten minutes?" I had asked.

Lydia had offered a more terrifying suggestion. "Or three more about to happen."

Allison had made the point that Scott should be informed of these events. Before either of us could protest, she darted into another direction. Lydia and I had no choice but to follow her lead.

When we arrived at the door, we were not answered by Scott. Stiles had said that he had no idea where he went, and merely assumed he had gone for a walk or something. We spilled all the information we had gathered that night, hoping Stiles might magically come up with a solution - like he was prone to. However, there was more on our plates that we initially thought.

"Last time Scott was acting like that was on the full moon," Allison said.

Stiles had his arms crossed, nodding furiously. "Yeah, he was acting weird with me too. Actually, it was Boyd who was acting really weird. I watched him put his fist through a vending machine." He said, demonstrating what Boyd had done.

"And you didn't think to mention that?" I asked, sarcastically. "People punching vending machines? That's not exactly normal, Stiles!"

Stiles shrugged, over exaggerating. "I just told you, didn't I?"

Lydia waved her hands, grabbing everyone's attention. "It's the hotel!" She declared for the umpteenth time. "We either need to get out." She reached inside the desk drawer, pulling out a Bible. "Or someone needs to learn how to perform an exorcism before the werewolves go crazy and kill us."

On the note of werewolves, everyone slowly turned toward me, which I understood, but was still offended by. "I'm _fine_," I said. "I'm fine. Look, I've been with you guys all night." I gestured to Lydia and Allison, who were still both eyeing me suspiciously. "Have I been acting out of place?"

"I'll be honest," Lydia said. "This is the longest time we've spent together. We can't really dictate that correctly."

I shook my head, and held up my hands. "Okay, you know what. Stop. This all goes back to the Rule of Three." I explained, thinking back to all that human sacrifice crap that Stiles had been texting me nonstop. All week long it had been, _Come on Mia! Sacrifice happened all the time! What's so completely insane about it? _

I kind of hated that I was beginning to believe it.

"What if this time, it's three werewolves? That wouldn't include me. It would break the pattern, or something."

"Scott, Isaac and Boyd." Allison murmured, thinking on the new idea.

Stiles nodded along as well. "Maybe we were meant to come here."

"Exactly!" Lydia intervened, eyes wide. "So can we get the hell out of here now? _Please._"

Eyes on the Bible in her hand, Stiles ignored what she was saying, and snatched the book from her. He opened up the book to the page that had been marked with several papers sticking out from the top. Stiles unfolded them, and began to read aloud. "Twenty eight year old man hangs himself in the infamous Glenn Capris." He set the book down, and unfolded the rest of the news articles.

As they spread the articles across the bedspread, Lydia grabbed two of the clippings. "They both mention the room two seventeen." She said, as I recalled the number on the door we had just entered. "These are probably all the suicides that happened in this room."

"That's a beautiful thing," Stiles said. "Most places leave a mint under the pillow. Here they leave a record of all the horrible deaths that occurred."

"What if the room next door has the one about the couple?" Lydia asked, looking toward Allison and myself.

Stiles reacted before anyone else did, leaping out the door and down the hallway. He grabbed the door handle, but the entrance refused to open. "That was not locked before," Lydia said.

"Forget it!" Allison said. "We need to get Scott, Isaac and Boyd out of here."

Just as we were about to send off a search party, the sound of a power drill filled our ears. It was so shrill, it almost made me cover my ears involuntarily. "I'm not the only one who heard that, right?" Lydia asked.

I shook my head, as Allison leaned in curiously. "It sounds like someone trying a hand saw on."

Stiles jolted backward, expression electrified. "_Handsaw?"_

We gave up on twisting the doorknob, and instead practically kicked down the door. We finally gained access into the room, and were nearly too late. One of the twins from school, whom I still couldn't tell apart, held a saw to his stomach, and wore an eerily blank expression.

"Hey! No!" Stiles said, running toward him. "Ethan, no!"

Even though I was terrified out of my mind, I still somehow had time to slide in a snide remark. "He's not a _dog_ Stiles! Or at least not a trained one!"

Stiles and I rushed over toward him. Stiles grabbed the saw while I held Ethan back. However, though I was stronger than the typical teenage female specimen, I wasn't strong enough to keep Ethan from flinging me backwards, hitting the back of the wall.

The impact was immediate, and painful. Sending wave after wave of pain through my body. I willed my eyes to open, spotting the world in a much dizzier form.

Lydia had a simpler version at attack, and unplugged the saw from it's source of energy. By this time, I had staggered up, just in time to see Ethan wielding his claws, dragging them across his stomach.

I willed my own claws to make an appearance, and flung myself at the boy, pinning him down to the ground, momentarily. I dug my claws into his wrists, feeling no guilt in doing this as I knew that they would eventually heal. However, I wasn't able to hold him back for long, as he shot up from beneath me, and sent me flying backward.

Allison and Stiles grabbed him by the hands, and, with their combined strength, flung him across the room. It was then that Ethan came out of the eerie trance, and became aware of his actions. "What just happened?" He said, quickly standing up.

"You think we know?" I asked, bitterly from my place on the floor. I held my hand to my forehead, and when I pulled it back I noticed my blood stained fingers. I didn't worry too much, knowing that it would heal quickly. "But an apology would be nice." Ethan didn't respond, and instead made the most of my blathering, and made a run for it.

"Ethan!" Stiles said, as the rest of us began chasing after him.

"I don't know!" Ethan yelled back at us, grabbing his shirt and stepping down the stairs. When he noticed that he was being followed, he repeated the sentence. "Didn't you hear what I said?" He asked. "I don't know how I got there, or what I was doing.

"Okay..." Stiles said, reaching the end of the stairwell. "You could be a little bit more helpful. We did just save your life."

"Still waiting on that apology," I reminded him, as Allison nudged me into silence.

Ethan, looking at me, shook his head. "You probably shouldn't have," he said, regarding the saving of his life, which I didn't completely understand at the moment. Life saving was generally rewarded, not discouraged.

He continued to walk away from us, and this time we let him go. "What now?" Lydia asked.

"I'll find Scott," Allison suggested, perhaps slightly too eager. "You guys find Isaac and Boyd. The best thing we can do is get them out of this place." She dashed back up the stairs, filled with worry for her boyfriend. Ex-boyfriend, Stiles had said, though I suspected that would all soon change.

Tension filled the air, as my eyes darted between the two in front of me. Lydia, also noticing the tensity, became irked by the quiet. "What? Why are you looking at me like that?" She demanded, folding her arms across her body.

"All right," Stiles said. "Lydia, I didn't want to say anything, but everything we're going through we've kind of been through before."

My eyebrows were raised, waiting for Lydia's response to this claim. "What?" She asked, scandalised by the insinuation. "When?"

Stiles looked away briefly, but then turned back to Lydia. "Your birthday party," he said. "The night you poisoned everyone with wolfsbane."

Again, they were engulfed in tense silence. Lydia, clearly, did not take this suggestion well, and bolted out into the parking lot. I groaned, as I really didn't feel as though there was time for dramatics like that. "Maybe we should just focus on finding Isaac and Boyd first," I suggested.

"But if it _is _Lydia, we have to figure out a way to stop her!" Stiles proclaimed, bouncing, on his heels. Before, I thought this was an act he partook in out of excitement, but now I was realising that he merely did this whenever he was anxious or had excess energy or adrenaline to burn. Of which, there was always an abundance.

I stepped down from the step I had been standing on, and pushed Stiles along. "Come on." I said, nudging him forward. "Let's just go patch things up with Ms. Martin."

* * *

There was a wash of calm as soon as we stepped outside. It was as if we were submerged underwater, except that this sea was an ocean of stars. For a moment, at least, I revelled in the quiet, completely enveloped in glorious silence. However, it was interrupted by the bantering of the two people walking behind me.

"Lydia, I'm sorry, okay?" Stiles said, sounding truly apologetic. "Look I didn't mean that you're trying to kill people, okay? I just meant that maybe you're somehow involved in getting people to kill themselves, you know?"

I turned around, and gave Stiles a look. As if I were saying: _"Really?"_

Stiles realised what I was indicating, and quickly retracted his speech. "Which now that I say that out loud, it just sounds really terrible, so I'm just going to stop talking."

I turned back around, continuing to walk away from the bickering duo. Shivers flew up and down my arms, due to the cool breeze.

_Mia._

I shot around, believing that Stiles or Lydia may have called me. However, I was only greeted by curious faces. "You okay?" Stiles asked.

I nodded, turning back around to hide my shock. "Just dandy."

_Your fault. All your fault. _

Words like these would have never come from the voice they seemed to emulate from, and, though I knew this, I was filled with anxiety. I looked around frantically, as if the person whispering these dreadful words might be hiding somewhere. I began to nervously scratch my arm, not realising the damage she was causing to myself.

_Your fault. Your fault. All your fault._

The voice was merely taunting me now, using words that I would never hear from this source. I threw her head in all directions, the world becoming a giant blur. "'Melia," Stiles said, grabbing her arm. Only then did I register what I had been doing all this time.

Down my arm, was a trickling river of blood pouring from my wrists. My eyes darted down to my hands, realising that my claws had been left freely roaming. "I…I didn't even realise…" Stiles hand had reached toward mine, causing the me to stop mid sentence. "What're you doing?"

"Well," Stiles said. "I'm not gonna let _you _bleed out either."

I pursed my lips, refraining myself from letting any tears slip out. "I'll be fine." I said, choking the words out.

Stiles's eyes were still fixed on me, not fazed by my words. "No, you aren't. Whatever this is...well it's affecting you too."

"Stiles." Lydia said, who had strayed away from the us and began lingering by the gutters. "Amelia, did you hear that?"

Looking at each other, Stiles and I both shook our heads. "Why?" Stiles asked. "Lydia, what do you hear?

"Crying." She said, nearing the sewer. Once calming, the silence became eerie, closing in on them, and trapping them. Lydia dropped down to her hands and knees, possibly to catch the words more clearly, but I guessed that she simply had given out. "She's drowning the baby," she murmured. "Someone's drowning."

* * *

I didn't know how Stiles knew which room Boyd was located in, and, quite frankly, I didn't want to. As we rushed into the room, Stiles continued to grip my hand, refusing to let me out of his sight.

I was pulled into Boyd's hotel room, and nearly hit my head against the side of the wall as Stiles ran into the bathroom, followed by Lydia. Boyd was already laying flat in the bathtub, and had a heavy looking safe propped up on his stomach.

Stiles finally let go of my hand, leaving it abnormally warm and slightly sticky, and plunged it into the water, frantically searching for the plug. Meanwhile, I decided to have a go at the safe, tugging at it, but making no progress in moving the hunk of metal. "He blocked it," Stiles said. "I can't get to the drain."

Lydia merely stood in the corner, panting. "What do we do?"

"Help me!" I said, still tugging at the safe. The others reached for edges of the black box of cement, pulling as hard as they could in the opposite direction, but to no avail.

After a couple seconds of no advancements, Lydia asked more questions. "Is he dead? How long can a person survive under water?"

"Three minutes before they pass out," I grunted, reciting trivia that I had read whilst on the road. "Five before their brain starts to deteriorate. But we're not talking about the average human being here." I curtly reminded them, giving up on the safe, and rubbing my reddening hands.

Stiles let go of the safe as well, and flew into the radiator. His flesh against the machine made an awful sizzling noise, but he soon forgot the pain. "Wait, the heater." Lydia and I looked back to Boyd, still under the weight of the safe, unsure of what this knowledge would do to help the boy. "Ethan came out of it when he touched the heater. Heat does it, all right? We need something. We need fire."

"He's underwater!" Lydia reminded him, panic filling her entirely. "Wait." She said, beginning to think this new idea through. "On the bus, they'll have emergency road flares. They have their own oxidisers. They can burn underwater."

"Are you serious?"

"Yes!" Lydia shouted, urging Stiles to search for the desired object.

As he rushed out of the room, leaving the door open behind him, Lydia attempted to pull the safe off of Boyd. "It's not going to work." I said, frustrated.

Lydia turned around sharply, and gave me a look. "I thought you were all about saving lives, right?"

For less than a second, I stood there baffled. Yes, that was what I had said. However now that I was in the face of danger, I wasn't even doing anything that would benefit the greater good.

I walked to the end of the tub, and began to, half heartedly, pull at the end of the safe. Only moments later was I distracted by something that sounded like whimpering. I backed away from the bathroom, and listened closely. I got down on my hands and knees, peering beneath the bed. Glowing eyes, terrified eyes, were staring back at me, but just as quickly as I saw them, I was pulled back up by a familiar hand.

"Got 'em," Stiles said.

I grabbed one of the sticks from his hands, and nodded toward the bed. "I think Isaac's down there, how do I light this thing?"

"What are you going to do? Smoke him out?" Stiles asked, incredulously.

I rolled my eyes, even though we really didn't have the time for things of that nature. "Whenever my father went senile, I'd light a candle. The fire kept his mind off of the moon, okay?"

Lydia came rushing out of the bathroom, murmuring instructions like a textbook. "The cap, it's like a match. The cap's a match."

I grabbed the top of the lighter, and pressed the metal several times. Finally, I succeeded on my umpteenth time, and ducked down under the bed. "Hey, Isaac." I said, in a soft voice that was there mainly to comfort myself.

Isaac flinched, as I heard the safe slide onto the floor, causing a loud noise to commence. "Don't worry about that, just focus on the light." With the flame in my hand, I nearly chucked the thing toward the boy, drawing him out from under the bed.

* * *

I didn't sleep well that night, possibly because I slept upright in an already uncomfortable bus seat, but I decided that was only part of the reason. My main explanation for the lack of slumber that night was the simple fact that a couple of my friends had almost committed suicide less than a day ago. Granted, they had been under the influence of the motel they were staying at, another reason as to why I vouched to sleep on the bus, but it had been a terrifying experience all the while.

Quietly, I turned my head around, as I had been resting it against the window. Others on the bus had fallen asleep rather peacefully, which struck a nerve in me, wishing I wasn't enamoured by the constant drum of my thoughts.

Plastic rubbed against the fabric of clothing, and I noticed Stiles begin to awaken from his deep dormancy. "Morning." I whispered into the sleeve of my sweatshirt, softening my words.

"Hey." He said, rubbing his eyes with his hands. "How're you holding up?"

I shrugged, drained of my energy. "Surprisingly well." I answered, monotonic. "Considering that I'm working on an hour of sleep, that is."

Nodding understandably, Stiles stretched his arms. They were rather long limbs, I noticed, and I also noticed that _he _had noticed me noticing. "What?"

I shook my head, averting my gaze immediately. "Nothing, I was just thinking." I expected him to press on, but, when he said nothing, I realised that he already knew I would ramble on by myself. "You know, just about yesterday."

"Yeah," Stiles said. "I was meaning to ask you about that, but, between all the suicide attempts…"

I smiled, though not truly out of happiness, and nodded along with him. "Not really any time to ask about that with all the commotion going on." I agreed. I looked down, and then, quickly, back up at Stiles. "I just heard some weird stuff. My dad, actually."

Stiles completely turned around in his seat, his arms resting on the top of the chairs. "What was he saying?"

"Same thing that runs in my head on loop." I murmured. "Take a guess." Stiles didn't make any assumptions, probably unsure of what to say. "No guesses?" I asked, then shrugged, expectantly. "Don't really know how I can explain any of this." I turned in my seat, to get more comfortable, and had the back of my head lean against the window. "It sounded _exactly _like him, or, at least, I think it did. It's hard to remember, you know?" He wasn't responding anymore, merely intently listening to my strange words. "_Do you_ know what I mean?"

I knew that Stiles's mother had passed away, but, clearly, was unsure of the details. Perhaps he had been too young to actually recall the memory, or maybe he had time to heal, and forget. "Sort of," Stiles answered. "It was only a few years ago. Actually, it was…" He stopped for only a moment, as if he couldn't believe that so much time had passed. "When I was ten, so almost seven years ago."

I tucked my knees up, hugging them toward my chest. "And you still remember her?" I asked, concerned. "'Cause, I don't. I mean, I do. It's just that I'm forgetting things. Like in the morning, he used to have this _crazy _strict routine. He'd go straight to the bathroom, brush his teeth, which I never understood. I mean, why would you brush your teeth _before _breakfast? Anyway, then he'd go downstairs, make a pot of coffee, and ask my mom to pick out a tie for him, out of the three he had, and, and everything after that is just a blur."

"I don't really remember stuff like _that_," Stiles admitted. "Mostly it's just the crazy, and not much before that." He looked away from me, fiddling with his fingers. "She had something called frontotemporal dementia. It was….It was pretty bad."

"Oh." I said, looking away as well. "I didn't know that, I'm sorry."

The bus door slammed open, and loud footsteps stormed up the few stairs to the vehicle. "I _don't _want to know." Coach Finstock bellowed, awakening the rest of the residents on the bus. "I really don't want to know, but in case you missed the announcement, the meet is cancelled, so we're heading home."

Everyone who had already been on the bus, began to sleepily rub their eyes, and become accustomed to the bright rays of sunlight. Before most of the group could process what was happening, Ethan, or who I believed to be Ethan, slid into the seat next to me, startling everyone. "I don't know what happened last night, but I'm pretty sure you saved my life."

I nodded. "That would be correct, and I'll take that thank you now."

"How about I give you something instead?" Everyone looked toward one other, curious as to what Ethan may present us with. "We're pretty sure Derek's still alive." Before anyone could react to the astounding news, Ethan continued quickly. "But he killed one of ours. That means one of two things can happen. Either he joins our pack and kills his own. Or Kali goes after him, and we kill him."

"What if we don't like either of those options?" I asked.

Ethan turned to me. His eyes were set deep into his skull, and were as intense as eyes got. "That's the way it works."

"You know," Stiles interrupted. "Your little code of ethics there is sort of barbaric."

As the coach walked by our seats, Lydia jolted upwards, and grabbed the whistle hanging from his neck. Though his protests were acknowledged, Lydia was not about to give back the device so easily. Clearly, the girl needed the whistle for a reason, and everyone knew this, so they all leaned closer toward her.

Lydia blew softly into the whistle, holding a hand in front of the hole. When she removed her hand, an ashy substance stained her flesh. "Wolfsbane." She revealed. "So every time the coach blew the whistle on the bus, Scott, Isaac, Boyd, Ethan and Amelia..."

Scott's eyes lingered on mine for a moment, unsure of what had happened to me the night before, but then looked back at the group as a whole. "We all inhaled it."

"You were all poisoned by it," Allison added her hair flying in all directions from the thrashing she had done in her sleep.

Stiles nodded, like he always did when processing new information. "So that's how the Darach got in their heads. That's how he did it." Once this knowledge was shared with everyone, Stiles snatched the whistle from Lydia, and, albeit the coach's wishes, threw it out the window, causing it to clink against the pavement.

* * *

**Authors Notes: Admittedly, not my finest work. However I was really determined to get this out before the weekend ended! I feel like it's been forever since I updated this story, and I feel awful about it. There are other things, and other stories, that have been occupying my time - so I'll apologise for the later updates now. **

**But I hope you all enjoyed this chapter, and if you did make sure to leave a review, and thanks so much for all the recent favourites - it really encourages me to keep going. **

**Thanks!: D **


	7. Forgive

**Forgive and Remember **

* * *

_[Amelia R-H has joined the conversation]_

_[Peyton Ashworth has joined the conversation]_

_**Amelia R-H: **__Sorry. _

_[Peyton Ashworth has left the conversation]_

_[Peyton Ashworth has joined the conversation]_

_**Peyton Ashworth: **__For what? _

_**Amelia R-H: **__Do you want the truth?_

_**Peyton Ashworth: **__Why would I want a lie?_

_**Amelia R-H: **__Sometimes lies are nicer then reality. _

_**Peyton Ashworth: **__It's "than" not "then"._

_**Amelia R-H: **__No it isn't. My grammar is impeccable. _

_**Peyton Ashworth: **__You use "than" when comparing two ideas or items, "then" is only used in reference to time._

_**Amelia R-H: **__If I admit defeat will you forgive me?_

_**Amelia R-H: **__Hello? _

_**Amelia R-H: **__You there?_

_**Peyton Ashworth: **__Yeah, yeah. Sorry. Finishing up an essay. _

_**Amelia R-H: **__So you forgive me?_

_**Peyton Ashworth: **__For what?_

_**Amelia R-H: **__You know what. _

_**Peyton Ashworth: **__No I don't. _

_**Amelia R-H: **__Then why aren't you talking to me anymore? (That's totally the right "then", by the way)_

_**Peyton Ashworth: **__Maybe I have more important things to do. I have other friends you know. (And, yes. Congratulations. You now have the grammar skills of a third grader.) _

_**Amelia R-H: **__No you don't. _

_**Amelia R-H: **__(And I will take that congratulations, regardless of the sarcasm I sense)_

_**Peyton Ashworth: **__Maybe I made some friends! _

_**Amelia R-H: **__No you haven't. _

_**Peyton Ashworth: **__How would you know that? I'm not talking to you. _

_**Amelia R-H: **__SEE! I TOLD YOU! (Also, anyone with half a brain could see that you've been hiding out in the library every chance you get) _

_**Peyton Ashworth: **__Okay, you caught me. _

_**Amelia R-H: **__Listen, I really am sorry for ignoring you. I've just been busy with other stuff lately. _

_**Peyton Ashworth: **__What are you doing anyway? And what're you doing hanging out with Lydia Martin all of a sudden? _

_**Amelia R-H: **__I'm not hanging out with Lydia Martin! She's, like, the epitome of everything wrong in the world. _

_**Peyton Ashworth: **__Hot though. _

_**Amelia R-H: **__You did not. _

_**Amelia R-H: **__And you still haven't answered MY questions. _

_**Peyton Ashworth: **__You haven't asked me anything. _

_**Amelia R-H: **__Look, all I know is that you have a rather annoying tendency to flee whenever another human being enters my life. _

_**Peyton Ashworth: **__I don't know if you've realised this yet, but people kind of suck. _

_**Amelia R-H: **__I don't know if you've realised this yet, but you kind of suck. _

_**Peyton Ashworth: **__I thought this was an apology? _

_**Amelia R-H: **__Well, now it's an intervention. _

_**Amelia R-H: **__Tell me, Mr. Ashworth, why do you have this severe aversion to the human race?_

_**Peyton Ashworth: **__Well, my dear therapist, I have a theory that the majority of these psychological issues that I'm facing originate from this idiot that keeps messaging me in the middle of the night. _

_**Amelia R-H: **__It's like eleven. That's hardly the middle of the night. _

_**Peyton Ashworth: **__Really? That's what you're taking from this conversation? _

_**Amelia R-H: **__Will you just forgive me already? _

_**Peyton Ashworth: **__Why should I? Every time you actually take the time to hang out with me you end up dashing off in the opposite direction with your knight in shining armour or whatever. _

_**Amelia R-H: **__Who said they were knights? Far from, my friend. Far from._

_**Peyton Ashworth: **__That's besides the point. Why should you even bother to hang around me? You and Allison have been hanging out. _

_**Amelia R-H: **__So? _

_**Peyton Ashworth: **__So she's like the most popular girl in school. _

_**Amelia R-H: **__Ahh, I see that crush has still not subsided. I could put in a good word for you. Allison totally thinks you're cute. _

_**Peyton Ashworth: **__Really? _

_**Amelia R-H: **__No. _

_**Peyton Ashworth: **__And there's another jab at my self esteem. Can't you just stop with all the lies already?_

_**Amelia R-H: **__What lies? I haven't lied to you. _

_**Peyton Ashworth: **__Maybe none that I've caught you in. You've got to be hiding something, what with all the ditching me every other day we were talking about? _

_**Amelia R-H: **__Time is of importance. _

_**Peyton Ashworth: **__Why? I don't see how keeping secrets from me is of any importance whatsoever. _

_**Amelia R-H: **__Honestly? It could put you in danger. _

_**Peyton Ashworth: **__What? Do you work for the secret service or something?_

_**Amelia R-H: **__Shush! They're listening! _

_**Peyton Ashworth: **__Oh, shut up. _

_**Amelia R-H: **__This is nothing to joke about Peyton. The secret service takes instant messaging very seriously. _

_**Peyton Ashworth: **__What were we even talking about. _

_**Amelia R-H: **__GRAMMAR MISTAKE! WHERE'S THE QUESTION MARK PEYTON? WHERE'S THE QUESTION MARK? _

_**Peyton Ashworth: **__OH MY GOD YOU ARE FREAKING ANNOYING. _

_**Amelia R-H: **__WHERE'S THE GOD DAMNED QUESTION MARK PEYTON?_

_**Peyton Ashworth: **__I'm seriously considering accepting this apology just to shut you up. _

_**Amelia R-H: **__And there is a summary of my entire life in one sentence. So, we okay? _

_**Peyton Ashworth: **__I'm still mad. _

_**Amelia R-H: **__Come on. What else do I have to do? Must I travel across the desert and bring you back jewels hidden deep in the Great Pyramids of Egypt? _

_**Peyton Ashworth: **__Can't you just be serious for a minute?_

_**Amelia R-H: **__Fine. What's the issue Peyton? If anything I should be mad at you. I'm allowed to have other friends. And these guys are really nice, maybe I'll introduce you to them some time. _

_**Peyton Ashworth: **__I know who they are, everyone does. _

_**Amelia R-H: **__They do? _

_**Peyton Ashworth: **__Yeah. They know you too now. _

_**Amelia R-H: **__You don't exactly sound pleased about that. _

_**Peyton Ashworth: **__I just thought that you didn't really care about stuff like that. _

_**Amelia R-H: **__I don't! _

_**Peyton Ashworth: **__Sure. Why else do you hang around them? Don't you dare tell me you have things in common with them. _

_**Amelia R-H: **__I don't know, they're nice. _

_**Peyton Ashworth: **__So this has to do with the secret you're not telling me?_

_**Amelia R-H: **__Short answer: yes. _

_**Peyton Ashworth: **__And you just expect me to go along with all these secrets, blindly following you along?_

_**Amelia R-H: **__Well when you put it like that I sound like an awful human being._

_**Peyton Ashworth: **__Finally catching on, eh?_

_**Amelia R-h: **__Peyton!_

_**Peyton Ashworth: **__Okay!_

_**Amelia R-H: **__Okay? _

_**Peyton Ashworth: **__Yeah, okay. _

_**Amelia R-H: **__This isn't a John Green book, Peyton. What does that mean?_

_**Peyton Ashworth: **__I don't think there's a definition for "okay". _

_**Amelia R-H: **__Does that mean we're "okay"? _

_**Peyton Ashworth: **__Why did you quote the word "okay"?_

_**Amelia R-H: **__Why did you?_

_**Peyton Ashworth: **__Because it's grammatically correct. _

_**Amelia R-H: **__WHY THE HELL DO I WANT TO BE YOUR FRIEND? _

_**Peyton Ashworth: **__Because I, unlike you, am an amazing human being. _

_**Amelia R-H: **__Oh, haha. _

_**Amelia R-H: **__I've got to go. _

_**Amelia R-H: **__We're okay right? _

_**Peyton Ashworth: **__Just spiffy. _

hr

**Authors Notes: It's been a while. I mean, other than school, there's really no excuse. But I'm here! This chapter's quite short, but I really liked it. It kind of shows a bit more of Amelia & Peyton's relationship, and what's going to go down between them. Hopefully y'all enjoyed that :) **

**Leave a review if you enjoyed - or not! Let me know what you think. **


	8. The Honda Civic

The Honda Civic

* * *

I like to believe that Peyton and I were friends. Of course, I do not have much experience in the friendship department, so perhaps I am not in a position to decide on that matter. However I am convinced that Peyton was at least somewhat appreciative of my presence in his life.

Although, I must admit, this friendship had not solely bloomed from our sheer endearment for one another. In fact, the main reason Peyton and I ended up spending most of our spare time together was because of my determination to avoid to rest of the world going on around me.

There were the obvious issues, such as my mother and her persistent efforts in reconciliation, and the problems that had always been there, such as the full moon that mocked my existence with insidious mind games, and the classic worries, such as the school work that was piled on my desk, or the fact that we were still facing the threat of eviction, and, the night that is still etched out so clearly in my memory, hearing my father chastise me from the grave; speaking words that would haunt me for an eternity.

To keep these thoughts at bay, I blanketed myself in Peyton's issues. They were still issues, and bothersome regardless of whether or not they were mine, but they let me forget about the world that I had been born into. Whenever I was unable to sleep, or when my head was clouded with thoughts of worrisome events, I found myself contacting Peyton, who was always open to conversation - even in the middle of the night.

For a while I did think what I was doing was cruel. It was unfair for Peyton to be used as a distraction, and I knew that if he were to ever find out, I would be ridden with guilt for the rest of my life. Which, really, gave me even more of a reason to feel horrible. Peyton was the one being used, and I still had the audacity to feel sorry for myself.

"Mia," Peyton said, as he chucked his pencil at me.

I raised my hand in time to block the pencil from being lodged in my eye, and glared at Peyton. "Just because you're doomed to wear those ridiculous glasses for all of eternity does not mean you have to punish me for having perfect vision."

"Perfect vision?" He scoffed, as he reached for the pencil and twirled it in his hands. "Says the girl who walked into a pole the other day."

I waved the situation away, and Peyton laughed at his supposed victory. "Pass me the textbook," I said, gesturing to the beat up library book across the bedroom floor.

Peyton and I both needed to start studying for a Chemistry test that we had been dutifully procrastinating from doing, so he had invited me over to his place. His apartment was near identical to mine, with the same creaky floorboards and mould infested kitchen.

I heard heavy footsteps press against the floor, and a knock at the door commenced moments later. Peyton didn't even have time to respond before his father, still wearing his construction boots, walked into the room. His eyes immediately found their way to our array of study materials scattered across the floor, which made me wonder what he thought we were doing.

"Mia," he said, in a tone much more amicable than the hardened expression he wore. "Your mother asked me to come in and get you, seemed like something urgent."

What Peyton's father - a tall man with a rough beard, grown because of the lack of time there was to shave, what with his constant work in construction - did not realise was that it was always urgent with my mother, hence the reason why I took my time getting up, and why I decided to leave my belongings on the floor of Peyton's room.

"I'll be back in a minute," I called over my shoulder, as I stepped out of the room. "Don't start the next chapter until I've come back - I still don't get Organic Chemistry."

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Peyton salute in my direction. I took the few steps out of the room, and then out of the apartment. However the moment I stepped out into the hallway, I wished that I had opted to escape through the window.

My mother knew me too well. When I arrived in the hallway, the door to our squalid apartment was already ajar, and I could see my mother meticulously sorting through the small pile of letters in front of her, and, since we never actually got any letters, I figured they must have been bills.

I would have run, had the door not been left wide open. My mother was clever that way. Her eyes darted up from the table, and easily found their way towards me.

"Mia," she said, with a tone that did indeed indicate urgency. "We need to talk."

"No kidding," I mumbled, as I sauntered towards the island countertop in the middle of the room, hoping that it would serve as a barrier between us. I crossed my arms - another barrier - and raised my brows questioningly.

She sighed, and carelessly tossed the yellowed paper in her hands onto the ever growing pile on the table. "We're broke," she announced, like I hadn't already known that simple fact. "Like, really broke. Broker than when Carson and I had you, and let me tell you, _that _was really broke."

There was a moment of silence, as the forbidden name hung morosely in the air. "What's the plan then?" I asked, breaking the silence like a stone shattering through a window. "I could ask Nott for some extra shifts, but I still make minimum wage - maybe I could work through some classes, like Chemistry. There's no way I'll ever need to know about organic compounds, so I might as well be doing something use-"

"No," my mother said, firmly. "You're not jeopardizing your education for minimum wage." She bit her lip. "And, besides, I've already decided where budgets need to be made."

I waited.

"Margo. We can pull her out-"

"Mom, _no_."

"We can pull Margo out from school - that'll save us an enormous amount of money. We don't have the cash to keep funding her education there anyways." My mother said, her voice raised.

I bit my lip, and held my tongue. It made sense, my mother's plan, which is why it made accepting it that much more difficult.

Margo had not been an active part of my life since I was twelve - and that was five years ago. But getting her into that school was the best thing we could have done for her. It gave her a shot at a normal life. How could the world be so cruel to have us take that away from her?

"Fine," I conceded. "Let's just go ruin her life, shall we?"

My mother ignored the comment, but there was a brief flicker of pain that flashed across her expression. "That's not all." She went on. "I think it's time we sold the car."

Rage fuelled every move I made after that comment. "No." I said, more firmly than I had in regards to Margo. "No, we're not selling the car."

"Mia," my mother said, pain evident in her tone. She ran her hand through her steadily thinning hair, which had long since lost it's lemony sheen. "I _know _you dislike the idea, but we're desperate. I don't even know if Margo's school will refund us at this point, and we need something to fall back on."

"And the _car _is your solution?" I asked, scoffing. "A 2000 Honda Civic? The thing is ancient, and there's, like, a twenty percent chance that it'll malfunction during use. Who'd pay for something like that?"

"I've already done my research," my mother promptly answered. "There's a guy down the street who's offered us a fair deal for some the spare parts. It's the best we're going get, and, quite frankly, it's a pretty good deal."

I bit the inside of my cheek for a moment, trying to conjure up something - _anything _- to combat her argument with. "We can't sell the car, we're _not _selling the car." I declared, as my mother let out a frustrated sigh.

"Mia-"

"No." I interrupted, walking away from the island countertop. I swiped the keys to the Honda Civic from the dish sitting on the council, tucking them into my hand securely.

"_Amelia,_" I heard my mother shout, her voice probably reverberating through the paper thin walls. "Stop being so ridiculous!" She said, exasperated. "You've been completely unreasonable for _months, _and I am damn tired of it."

I had my back turned, as I was just about to storm out of the apartment, so I could not actually see my mother. I could envision her standing there, though. I imagined her to have her hands balled in fists by her sides, only unraveling themselves to make dramatic gestures to go along with her speech. Her hair would have spilled out from the lopsided bun atop of her head, and her clear green eyes would have become murky.

"I get it," she said, a clapping sound coming from behind me. I imaged she had actually been crossing her arms, instead of having balled up fists, and had just released them from the tight cross. "You're mad, and sad, and and angry at the world - I am too. But that's not an excuse to act like the way you are. And you know that. God, Mia, you _know _that. The world hasn't stopped because he died, and I need you to stop clinging onto his death and start moving the hell on. That's what people do, you know."

She paused, for dramatic effect I presumed, and I stood there a moment, waiting for her to continue on her spiel. When she didn't, I let out a dry chuckle, and stormed away.

* * *

The day I passed my written drivers test, my father bought me the red truck that sat in the parking lot next to his old Honda Civic. It wasn't exactly a teenage girls dream car, but it was mine.

I can vividly remember when Dad took me to that second hand car dealership - from the chilly autumnal breeze, to the warm arm wrapped around my shoulders: the symbol of a proud father.

"My father bought me the Civic when I was your age," Dad had told me. "We can make it a Hoffman tradition."

It was a sweet moment at the time, but now it only made me realise how unfathomably ancient the Civic really was.

The car jolted upwards as I drove over a speedbump, and I heard the gas tank gurgle. I wondered how I never noticed how ridiculously dysfunctional the vehicle was before, but I definitely regretted no realising the truth behind my mothers words until now.

I hit another speedbump, nearly hitting the ceiling this time, and caught a glimpse of a figure strolling through the obnoxiously decorated suburbs of Beacon Hills.

I slowed the car, and rolled down the windows. Literally. You had to roll the windows down manually.

"Stiles," I said, leaning over the bridge between the drivers seat and the passenger's seat. "Want a ride?"

His head, probably caught in a web of thoughts, turned towards me. He took in the sight of the car, which I ignored, and then made his way towards the door.

"Thanks," he said, as the car jolted back to life. "Do you know where 'Hal's Repairs' is?"

I shook my head.

"It's just on Avenue Road, I'll show you."

But I didn't need showing. I had a creeping suspicion that I already knew exactly where Hal's Repairs was, and it was exactly where I didn't want the Honda Civic to be.

"What's wrong with the jeep?" I asked, recalling the vehicle that smashed it's way into my life the night of my father's death.

Stiles shrugged. "Headlights busted." He balanced his elbow on the window frame. "So where're you headed?"

I let out an audible breath of air, which blew some of the curly blonde hair out of my face. "Not Hal's Repairs," I mumbled, as I turned right.

"O-okay," Stiles said, unsteadily. "Well I, actually, am, and you just missed the turning." Silence. "And you already know that," Stiles surmised, his elbow slipped from the window. "Can I at least ask where we're going?"

I didn't have an answer to give him, not one that would satisfy either of us anyways, so instead I merely said, "Not Hal's Repairs," again, but this time with much more certainty.

"Um - okay." Stiles replied, as his hands started to do that thing where they started moving in all directions - apparently of their own accord. "Why aren't we going to Hal's?"

I could hear the sound of old rubber rub against the rough cement. You wouldn't think that someone could pick up such a subtle noise like that - but you have to remember that I'm not exactly normal. Then again, this silence I found myself and Stiles in was so absolutely deafening that anyone could have heard it.

"Because my mother wants to sell the car."

Without taking my eyes off the road - because I am a responsible driver, just so you know - I could spot Stiles out of the corner of my eye, staring out the window. "And you don't want to?" He asked, though he surely must have been clever enough to know the answer.

"We have a genius in our midst." I proclaimed, with a hint of distaste behind the words. "No, Stiles, I don't."

After several moments of silence, I came to the conclusion that I was not meant to be around other humans. Every time a social interaction came my way, I managed to turn it into a stand still.

"Why doesn't your Mom want you to keep it?"

I could feel the agitation itching in my bones, as I shifted uncomfortably in my seat. How could I begin to explain something I had been stuck with for my entire life? You can't tell someone how to breathe, or why they have warm brown eyes, vaguely tousled hair, or an insatiable curiosity that begged questions like these.

"Where do you live, Stiles?" I asked, as I took my eyes off of the road for a split second, to face him and peer into his eyes - curiously brown, with hints of a warm amber flecks in them. It was like sitting in front of a fire, waving your hands tantalisingly over the flames - waiting for them to nip at your fingertips.

I shook my head - the slightest bit - remembering to take in the words Stiles was sharing with me. "Down the street," he had said, pointing backward towards the suburban neighbourhood we just left in the dust.

"And that's why you won't get it," I concluded in an almost unintelligible mumble. "Which, really, makes me the moronic one, thinking that you could understand."

"Maybe I could," Stiles argued, shrugging his shoulders. "I mean, yeah, I get it. The car belonged to your Dad. It's a sentimental thing, and you're not ready to give it up yet."

I didn't say anything; I didn't need to. But I could feel a sense of, for lack of a better word, _pride_ instilling itself in Stiles. It was the pride in knowing that he had guessed what had been itching in and the bitterness inside me couldn't let it stand.

"You know," I said, in a voice laced with sharp resentment, "Just because you have a membership to the 'Dead Parents Club' doesn't mean you have the ability to automatically understand everyone's problems."

There was a sourness in the air, so intense that I pursed my lips - as if to soften the sensation. "Sorry," I mumbled, though not apologetically. "But you _don't_ get it. This car...it's more than that. It did belong to my Dad, but it was also mine. When you're jumping around the country, moving every three or four months, you don't really have a home, and this car..."

I stopped, trying to piece together some coherent sentence that could convey what I was trying to say, but to no such avail. Instead, I gestured to the broken air conditioning vent. "That's where my sister, Margo, shoved her entire pack of crayons in when she was five, and ever since then you can still hear them rattling in there when you turn on the vent.

"And there's a dent too - from my first full transformation. I don't remember much of it but Dad swears - swore - that I rammed him into the door so many times that I dented the car there. There's a splotch of paint somewhere around there too. It's a slightly different shade than the rest of the car, but Dad didn't care. See, Margo went through this street artist phase, where she would plaster quotes she came up with all over buildings. Eventually someone was pissed enough to get back at her. That was just before my Dad sent her to boarding school. It wasn't that he was mad at her, but he knew that he would never get another excuse to ship her off again - you know, away from the madness."

I could feels Stiles' eyes fixated on me, but I did my best to not seem to notice it. "I am being ridiculous, aren't I?" I choked out on a laugh, because, as much as I did not want to admit it, Stiles was right. Sentimentality is a force that holds people back from their futures. Except the problem with it is that it's impossible to rid yourself from your past, and therefore impossible to rid yourself of that sentimentality that gets in the way of the rest of your life.

"No. I mean yeah, but also no." Stiles said, not so succinctly.

"Come on," I said, rolling my head towards him. "You must have been the same way. Don't tell me you didn't keep anything of your Mom's after she died."

Stiles shrugged, looking as though he were trying to remember - giving me the impression that he hadn't gone through a car thievery phase as I seemed to be. "Nothing out of the ordinary," Stiles finally settled on. "My Dad has a bunch of picture albums, and some of her old clothes up in the attic - so it always smells like her up there."

"Well," I said, with a tone of finality, "You could've at least made something weird up to make me feel better. I can't be the only person who decided to steal a car in their moments of post-death despair."

Stiles let out a short laugh, and then revealed something that I had not even considered. "You know, this more about you than anything else."

I mean, yeah. It was about me. I was a large part of my own problems, but what did that mean? I wasn't intentionally making things difficult for myself, so what was the cause of my problems? Of course, I could just blame the inevitable shittiness of the universe, but that's much too simple of an answer for me.

"Have you patched things up with your Mom yet?" Stiles asked, an innocent question in his mind, and not so in mine.

I scoffed, and gave a strained sight. "For a while, but I'll never patch things up with her." I said, drumming my fingers on the steering wheel. "Even if things simmer back down, it'll never be the same. It's not like you can just forgive someone for lying to you for seventeen years."

"Nothing is ever the same. Change is supposed to be the only thing that stays the same." Stiles said, spitting out some generic wisdom that usually made me want to physically abuse whoever decided to inflict their Confucian wisdom on me.

I waved away the wisdom he spewed out, slamming my foot on the gas pedal - as the car had begun to slow. "That's what people with normal lives say to make the sad and dysfunctional people feel better." My brows came together, as I pulled back my foot and jammed it back onto the pedal. "What the hell..."

I had been driving Stiles and I around the neighborhood aimlessly, and at that moment we had been exploring a sketchier part of town - less suburban Barbie dream house, and more House on Elm Street.

"Shit," I said, under my breath. I reached for the door handle, and stepped outside, the chilly autumn air nipping at my neck. "Shit!"

Stiles promptly followed my lead, as I heard the second passenger door slam shut. I reached under the hood of the car, and lifted it upwards, my face then shrouded in a cloud of smoke.

I bent over, trying to find the problem that had caused our abrupt stop, and when I stood back up I had to cough out the smoke that had slipped into my lungs. "I think the car battery died," I coughed. "Jack Frost is fucking with my car."

In all it's years, the Honda Civic had crashed many a time. Whether it was light or dark out, hot or cold - the Civic had been through it all. My father, not a mechanic by any means, _did _know a thing or two about the Honda Civic, and could always get it up and running.

I was not gifted with this ability.

"What the hell did Jack Frost ever do to you?" Stiles asked, standing on the side.

I sighed, tinkering around with the engine. To be fair, it was more like poking things that seemed to gurgle from various tanks. "I think the car battery died - drastic change in weather is supposed to cause that, I think."

"Yeah, that's probably 100% not true." Stiles concluded, as I shot him a warning look. "But this is what we get for driving around in a malfunctioning car."

"Shut up and help me."

Stiles took a step over, taking a gander at all of the malfunctioning bits and bobs that had been ripped and replaced under the hood of the car, and though he looked as though he knew what he was doing, I knew he had no clue what to do either. "You have no idea what you're doing, do you?" I said, taking a step away from the hood of the car and leaning on the side.

"Hey!" Stiles said, emerging from the hood with oil smeared across his forehead. "Give me some credit."

I smiled, and involuntarily rolled my eyes - a habit that instilled itself in me a long time ago. "If you knew what you were doing," I continued, "I don't think that I would be driving you to Hal's Repairs."

"Well, you weren't exactly driving me there." Stiles countered, with a grin. He wiped his hands on his pants - a pair of coffee coloured khakis that he paired with a plaid shirt.

Stiles reached up and shut the hood of the car, exiling the steam and oil to containment. I glanced over, and then proceeded to slide on next to him on the hood of the car.

We sat there, with our hands hung at our sides, admiring the purpling sky before us. It was that glorious time of the evening, where the sun had set but the sky hadn't quite darkened yet.

Stiles and I sat there in silence until the last of the purple rays sunk back into the earth, and the glittering stars above us made an appearance in the inky black sky.

"I have to sell the car, don't I?" I finally asked.

The realisation had dawned on me sometime during the sunset, symbolising the end of an era. I didn't look at Stiles, but I imagined him sitting there, hands loosely crossed over his knees, and those brown eyes entranced by the night sky and all its wonders.

"Yeah," he said, gentler than he had before. "I'm sorry."

And that was it. Nothing else needed to be said, and nothing else was said. Instead we sat there, in silence, admiring the vastness of the universe, our insignificance, and at the same time, our undeniable importance.

* * *

**Authors Notes: Happy November! Hope everyone had a smashing Halloween - and are looking forward to NaNoWriMo! I'm quite busy this month, unfortunately, but I still intend to make this a good writing month. I really really want to finish one of my stories sometime soon - and hopefully it'll be this one. But in the meantime, enjoy this chapter, and thanks for all the favourites, follows, and a review from last time!:D**

**Iste: Thank you so much! It really means a lot to me that something I wrote could have that effect, hope you enjoy :)**


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